


the spaces between my fingers

by ephemeralsky



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "you're my TA but i rly like you so, Alternate Universe - College/University, First Meetings, M/M, Slow Burn, allusions to mental disoder, and we could spend more time together" AU, don't you just [clenches fists] love college aus, i'm gonna pretend to be stupid so i could get help from you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralsky/pseuds/ephemeralsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto spots the blinking red light of an airplane and his eyes trail it until it disappears out of sight, and he lies still, the ticking of the wall clock that Kenma gave as a house-warming gift rippling through the air. He reaches a hand out towards the window, the light from outside bright enough for him to make out and trace the outline of his fingers as he spreads them.<br/></p><p>
  <em>It’s lonely.</em>
  <br/>
</p><p>He curls the digits, and drops his hand over his eyes.<br/></p><p>
  <em>I’ll see you around, Bokuto-san.</em>
  <br/>
</p><p>He lies on his side, curling up and pulling the blanket over his face.<br/></p><p>His lips are trembling, but he can feel them forming a smile.</p><p>(or: Bokuto receives hate from a cat and gripes about going to his classes, Akaashi is an Exasperated™ teaching assistant, Kuroo upholds his status as The Best Bro Friend a Guy Could Ever Ask For, and everyone makes an appearance at some point)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a storm is brewing

**Author's Note:**

> I... don't really know how to write Bokuto, so the only logical solution is to write a lengthy fic centering around him, apparently. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Like many other stories, Bokuto’s story begins with a cat.

The cat, its fur dyed in honey-brown, sits on the window sill with its back stretched upright, staring intently at Bokuto with a pair of emerald eyes, its tail swishing and curling.

Bokuto halts in his steps, lowering the towel down from his face and hanging it over his neck, a smile already forming on his lips as he pads towards the window, left wide open to allow better ventilation.

“Hello there,” he coos, reaching a hand out to pet the cat, and Bokuto takes note that it has a blue collar buckled snugly around its neck with a bell at the center. _Not a stray, then_.

The cat hisses when Bokuto’s hand is inches away from its head and it jumps to all of its four feet, back arching and tail erect, growling menacingly at its offender.

“Hey hey, I mean no harm,” Bokuto says, lifting his hands in a placating gesture, “Be careful now, or you’ll fall over.” _How did it get up to my apartment anyway?_

“Come on, now,” he tries again, extending a hand out, “I just want to make sure you won’t fall off the edge.”

The cat swipes its paw, claws scratching the back of Bokuto’s hand, and Bokuto automatically pulls back, wincing in pain. The creature hops off the ledge and Bokuto’s “Wait!” dies in his throat. Leaning forward as far as he can over the scaffolding, Bokuto scans the ground below him for any signs of the cat, but he finds nothing.

*

“Dude, you _do_ know that cats have righting reflexes and always land on their feet right?”

“It escaped my mind at that moment!” Bokuto trudges down the stairs after locking the door to his apartment. “Can you blame me for worrying about the cat and forgetting this thing called logic?”

“Ye-”

“Don’t answer that,” Bokuto snaps.

“Hey, you asked,” Kuroo responds, and Bokuto can see him putting his hands up in defense.

“Anyway, you’re still coming over right?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo answers, “I’ll come by tomorrow at 11 with Kenma. Make sure you order pizza.”

“Fine, I’ll order pizza. But I’ll order the ones with _pineapples_.”

Kuroo gasps. “You _wouldn’t_.”

“Ha, try and stop me.”

“Bro, I thought you loved me.”

“Not like Kenma does,” Bokuto snorts.

“Koutarou, I swear on this last piece of apple pie that I’m about to eat, if you bring me up in your stupid conversations again I’ll start charging you,” comes the cold reply from Kenma.

“Kuroo, you put me on loud speaker?!” Bokuto shouts.

“Let’s be real here, even if I didn’t put you on loud speaker, he’d probably still hear you given how loud you are.”

“I…. I feel so attacked right now,” Bokuto says dejectedly.

“You should’ve seen it coming the moment you mentioned pineapples, Bokuto.”

“Geh!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kuroo sing-songs before there’s a click that signals the end of the call. Bokuto lets out a laugh despite himself, and pockets his phone.

“Kou-chan! What happened to your hand?”

Bokuto jumps and reflexively pulls the sleeve of his sweater over the angry red marks that mar his right hand as he spins around on his heels. “Ah, um, it’s nothing, Abe-san,” he answers sheepishly.

“Haven’t your mother ever told you that you should never lie to old people, because we know everything?” The old lady grins at Bokuto, beckoning for him to come closer. “Now let me take a look at your hand.”

Bokuto stares at her for a while, his mind stuck on the first part of what she said, then he shakes his head to banish any needless thoughts, and walks over to where she’s sitting on the patio, scratching his cheek abashedly.

“A cat scratched me,” he explains as he takes a seat beside Abe, “Oh!” he suddenly exclaims, perking up, “That reminds me, do you own a cat, Abe-san? The cat that I saw had a collar on.”

Abe examines Bokuto’s hand and chuckles, “I wouldn’t say it belongs to me, per say.” Her warm, petite fingers run over the angry red claw marks, “Did you put anything on this, Kou-chan?”

“No,” Bokuto tips his head to the side, “Am I supposed to? I mean, I washed it with warm water, but I thought that cat scratches are harmless?”

Abe shakes her head, “Most of the time they are, but it would be best to put some antibiotic cream on.” She makes a move to get up, “I have some, just sit tight while I go get it.”

“No, no,” Bokuto quickly stops her, “I can fetch it. I don’t want to trouble you. Just tell me where it is.” He jumps to his feet before Abe can refuse.

Abe laughs, “Alright then.” She points a finger to the direction of the bathroom. “I have a first-aid box on the shelf in the bathroom.”

Bokuto nods and runs off into the house after taking off his shoes, returning to the porch in less than a minute.

“So, if you don’t exactly own the cat, then who does?” he asks as he sits down, crossing his legs.

Abe opens the first-aid box and takes out a tube of antibiotic cream, “I don’t think anyone can own her. She’s her own master,” she replies, distracted with uncapping the tube and squirting a generous amount onto her hand. She slathers the white cream over the scratch marks on Bokuto’s hand, anointing and rubbing the spot until the cream is evenly spread and blends with the color of Bokuto’s skin.

“There we go,” she says, patting Bokuto’s hand, “Be more careful in the future, okay.”

“But adventurous is my middle name!” Bokuto declares, jabbing a thumb to his chest.

Abe laughs, and Bokuto joins her in her laughter.

“How’s the unpacking going?”

Bokuto gives her a lopsided grin. “It’s still in the works. My friends are coming over tomorrow to help.”

Abe hums in acknowledgment.

“Well then, Abe-san, thanks for your help! I have to get going now,” he slips his sneakers back on, “Gotta buy dinner.”

“Oh!” Abe cries out, struck by an idea, “I have some food! You can have some, Kou-chan.”

“Eh? No no, Abe-san, I can’t accept that. I’ve already troubled you enough,” Bokuto reasons.

“It’s no trouble at all, really,” Abe smiles as she slowly stands up, “Come on.”

“But –”

“Kou-chan,” Abe asserts, face schooled into a mock-stern expression, “You must listen to an old woman’s demands, and I demand that you take some of the delicious chicken pie that my grandson made.”

“P-pie…?” Bokuto’s eyes light up.

Abe chortles. “Not the mathematical one.”

“Well, I guess _a slice_ wouldn’t hurt…” Bokuto concedes.

“It definitely won’t,” Abe adds reassuringly, already shuffling to the kitchen.

Bokuto follows her, a spring in his step because _chicken pie oh my god_ , but then he remembers that he’s imposing on an old lady and he mentally slaps himself. _Act more mature, Koutarou! Where has all that determination when you first moved out gone to?!_

“Kou-chan.”

Bokuto is jolted out of his thoughts. “Yeah?!”

Abe’s features crinkle into a smile. “Here you go,” she says, offering a container. “My grandson’s pies are to die for; count yourself lucky that you get to have some.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” Bokuto bows, taking the box in his hands.

Abe laughs. “Oh, Kou-chan!” She swats Bokuto’s shoulder good-naturedly. “Why so formal?”

Bokuto’s tense posture loosens up, and he rubs the back of his neck, forcing out a weak laugh. “It’s just –  I feel that I’m being a burden.” 

“It’s only been 3 days since you moved in. Once the novelty rubs off you’re going to feel right at home.”

Bokuto’s skin prickles and his heart rate picks up a speed. “R-right.” He says, lowering his hand and plastering a smile across his features.

He sucks in a deep breath and grins, making sure that it’s genuine this time. “Thanks so much for everything, Abe-san! Guess I’ll be heading upstairs now.”

Abe nods. “I’ll see you around, Kou-chan.”

Bokuto gives her a bow and turns on his heels.

“Oh, by the way, you should meet my grandson some time soon!” she trills, “He usually visits me on the weekends.”

Bokuto twists his torso around a little and gives her a nod as he keeps on walking. He climbs the stairs two steps at a time and fumbles a little with his keys. He enters his apartment, sliding the door close behind him, and he sags against the door, slumping down until he’s sitting on the floor of the entryway area.

It’s dim. The sun is already setting, the light filtering through the windows dwindling, and the air in his apartment is still. His eyes scan the empty dining table in the kitchen and roam over to the stacks of unopened boxes lined up against the wall and scattered in the living room.

_Home._

It’s quiet and dark, and Bokuto holds the food container closer to his chest.

*

The first day of the semester is off to a great start. Bokuto has volleyball practice in the morning, and after that, he would have time to clean up and eat breakfast before he has to drag himself to his classes. Having to see Oikawa first thing in the morning during practice might not have been his ideal way of starting the day, but he could deal with that, because his other teammates, including Kuroo, are cool, and volleyball is what fires him up to go to his Dreadful Classes.

He occupies himself with texting Kuroo as he waits for the first class to start, and, having seated himself at the back of the lecture hall, he occasionally looks up from his phone to see students filling up the seats at the front, and some have taken the seats around him, talking loudly as they all wait for the lecturer to arrive. When Kuroo stops replying because his own class is starting, Bokuto strikes up a conversation with the guy sitting next to him, a tall kid with silver hair and green eyes, who turns out to be half-Russian, and they manage to talk boisterously over a few topics when the professor walks in, the class falling quiet except for a few murmurs and buzzes.

The lecturer gives a run down of the course, explaining the weekly homework assignments and application problems as well as the tests, and Bokuto starts bouncing his legs three minutes into the tirade, his fingers drumming against his thighs and his inability to stay still without doing anything fleshing out. He’s feeling restless, and he starts to mentally list off all the prime numbers between 1 and 300 as a method to distract himself and repress the urge to simply get up and leave or to shout or to _just do something_. He reaches 157 when the professor says that the class will have four undergraduate teaching assistants, all of whom have taken the course in the past and have done extremely well.

“I’ll call the first one up to introduce himself.” The lecturer nods to someone who’s sitting right at the front as a cue as he himself steps to the side. A man with messy black mane and hooded dark eyes stands up and looks at the audience in front of him, a placid expression resting on his face. He glances around the large room, and for a fraction of a second, his eyes meet Bokuto’s.

The numbers trail away and slip out of Bokuto’s mind, his legs ceasing their bobbing until they completely still, his fingers resting sedately on his lap. The ripple of suppressed murmurs among the students becomes gradually quieter in his ears until the noise stops entirely, and all other sounds are muted out as well. He is not thinking about being bored out of his skull, he is not thinking about the excitement he will feel when it’s time for volleyball practice later in the day, he is not thinking about what he’ll eat for lunch and dinner; he is not thinking about anything. In his mind is a large expanse of an empty slate, ridding it of the purposeful chaos that is supposed to be a constant. The world is still, and he is blanketed with a calmness that he has never felt before; it is as if his body does not exist – no, he is beyond the physical manifestation of his existence. He is afloat, and yet he is grounded, serenity seeping through his skin, poring into his bones, spreading into his veins. He is paralyzed by a kind of tranquility he has never experienced, and yet he feels alive, his soul pulsating with a heartbeat. The world does not matter; he _is_ the world.

The moment passes as soon as it arrived, and Bokuto blinks, returning to the realm of reality, where the teaching assistant is introducing himself.

“I’m Akaashi Keiji, and I’m in the second semester of my first year. I’m majoring in Psychology. It’s nice to meet you,” he greets rather monotonously, tipping his head forward.

Bokuto thinks _wow, what an acid trip. What the hell was that all about?_ because it felt as if he traveled to a different world when their eyes met but now everything’s back to normal and the guy – _Akaashi –_ seems to be acting pretty calm so it must have all been in Bokuto’s head.

The professor adds with a grin, “Akaashi took this class last semester and he got the highest score, so I invited him to join my team.”

“What’s your type?” someone crudely shouts, and Bokuto bristles. He knows that voice.

Akaashi stares at the source of the voice with an indifferent expression. “People who are not you.”

The students laugh, with some of them shouting “Burn!” and “Ouch!” while the lecturer sighs, rolling his eyes. “All right Oikawa. It’s your turn.”

“Roger~” Oikawa Tooru stands up from his seat, striding over to the front of the packed room confidently, a smug grin etched on his face.

Bokuto curses and ducks, pressing his temple on the top of his desk and flipping his textbook open to prop it up in front of his head, effectively shielding himself from being spotted by Oikawa. The half-Russian kid whispers, “Are you okay?” and he shushes him.

Oikawa’s voice fills the room as he introduces himself, stating his name, his year (second), his major (business), and how long he’s been TA-ing for the class (it’s his third semester). Bokuto wills himself to slowly raise his head and take a peek over the book, but immediately regrets doing so when Oikawa’s gaze sweeps over to where he’s sitting. He stoops down again, waiting until the lecturer announces for the remaining teaching assistants to introduce themselves.

The professor instructs the TAs to distribute a couple of handouts, and they rose from their seats with stacks of papers cradled in their arms. The first guy to introduce himself, Akaashi, walks up the stairs that lead to the seats at the back and he starts giving out the papers at the other end of the row.

Bokuto studies him.

It’s weird that he went through that trance-like state, but he has to admit that Akaashi is rather attractive. He doesn’t really have a good view of him, not yet, but Bokuto can understand why some of the girls are blushing and giggling when they accept the handouts from Akaashi. Heck, even some of the guys seem a bit flustered.

Unfortunately, ogling at Akaashi leaves Bokuto wide open and defenseless.

“Ahem.”

Bokuto’s eyes go wide. He haltingly rotates his head and tips his chin upwards, his eyes meeting Oikawa’s.

“You do realize that with that hair of yours, it makes it impossible for you to effectively hide behind the book,” Oikawa points out smarmily, “And hiding from your own teammate is rude, Bokuto-chan!”

Bokuto glowers at him. “Hey! You were the one who told me that you’d rather not be seen in public with someone like me!”

Oikawa points and circles his forefinger in the air, “Not if I get the chance to harass you, Bokuto-chan!” He bops Bokuto’s nose and laughs when Bokuto tries to chomp his finger.  

“Is everything alright, Oikawa-san?”

They both turn their heads towards Akaashi, who’s looking at them apathetically.

“Peachy and perfectly dandy, Kei-chan!” Oikawa gives Bokuto a copy of the handout and walks away with Akaashi, tinkling his fingers and throwing a “See you at practice,” over his shoulder.

Bokuto throws his head back and groans, missing the glance that Akaashi sends in his direction.

*

A fact known to the world: Bokuto Koutarou does not think too much into things.

He’s a simple-minded guy, and he doesn’t like to mull over problems because all it’s going to give him is a major headache, and thinking about one single thing over a period of more than 5 minutes, especially when it’s not a matter concerning volleyball or numerical problems, is already hard enough of a feat to achieve for him.

Point standing: Bokuto Koutarou does not like to think too much about anything complicated, but as he practices his spiking during club practice later that day, he is constantly hit by a feeling of emptiness. When he drives that hollowness away by concentrating on his serves, the emptiness would return with an even greater and more persistent force, clawing and digging into his chest until the uncomfortable, suffocating vacuous space spreads even deeper, and he can’t help but wonder _why_.

“Bokuto, you okay?” Kuroo holds out his water bottle.

Bokuto’s breathing is ragged, his chest heaving with each intake of air, trails of sweat running down the side of his face. He stares vacantly at the offered water bottle, before he shakes his head vigorously, slapping his cheeks with an aggression so excessive that Kuroo flinches. Bokuto’s cheeks immediately turn red and Kuroo swears he could even see them throbbing.

Bokuto snatches the bottle and chugs down the whole thing in one go.

“Hey, slow down a little,” Kuroo says, tossing a towel onto Bokuto’s face.

Bokuto accepts the towel and hangs it around his neck, using the back of his hand instead to wipe his mouth. “Thanks, but don’t worry about me!” he says, beaming.

Kuroo’s gaze follows his hand. “Has the scratch on your hand healed yet?”

Bokuto raises the hand that was scratched. “Almo –” he halts, then changes his answer, “If I say no, will you come by my place again and help me clean up?”

Kuroo smacks his hand down. “Kenma and I wasted a perfectly good Sunday helping you unpack all of your junk. I don’t wanna do it again.”

Bokuto pouts. “But –”

“No buts and asses,” Kuroo replies firmly.

“What’s this I hear about buttocks? Are you guys discussing inappropriate things in the sanctity of our gym?” Oikawa emerges from behind Bokuto, hands on his hips, an eyebrow raised curiously, his voice carrying the same amount of guile as it always does.

“When is it never appropriate to dissertate about that fine part of the human anatomy?” Kuroo retorts, raising his hands.

“You fail to take into account the fact that other organisms posses that feature, Tetsu-chan.”

Kuroo gasps in surprise. “I would’ve never guessed that you were into bestiality, Oikawa!”

Oikawa’s mouth opens, then clamps shut, and he purses his lips, narrowing his eyes, “I’ll let you win this round, Tetsu-chan.”

“My next victory will tip the scale. You sure you wanna let this happen?” Kuroo grins deviously, wagging his eyebrows.

“If he doesn’t, he knows that he’ll get some whoopin’.”

Kuroo looks over Oikawa’s shoulder. “Oh. Iwaizumi.” He smirks in Oikawa’s direction. “No wonder you’re more behaved today.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cries, “Defend me! For the sake of my dignity.”

“We all know that there’s nothing to defend,” Iwaizumi says flippantly and turns to leave, “Come on, Oikawa. Get moving or I’m leaving without you.”

“You’re all so unbelievably rude!” Oikawa puffs his cheeks and stomps his foot, but tails Iwaizumi out of the gym anyway, albeit not before delivering one final jab aimed at Bokuto. “I’ll see you in calculus, Bokuto-chan. Get ready to meet the great Oikawa-sensei instead of the usual, charming Oikawa-san.”

Bokuto’s lips curl in distaste and Kuroo’s eyebrows elevate. “What does he mean by that?”

“You don’t wanna know,” Bokuto says grimly, “But I’ll tell you anyway!”

Kuroo rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“Oikawa’s one of the TAs for the calculus class that I’m taking.”

“No way!”

“Yes way!” Bokuto confirms, then sighs. “It’s gonna suck but I don’t wanna drop the class just because of that.”

“Don’t worry, man. He says it like he has all the power to whomp you but we all know that he actually _does not_ have the ability to handle you,” Kuroo places a hand on his friends’ shoulder.

Bokuto narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure if that was meant as an insult or a reassuring compliment.” He grabs the towel hanging around his neck with both hands and looks up at the high ceiling of the gym.

Kuroo stares at him, his eyes scrutinizing. “So is this why you’re a bit off today?”

Bokuto hums, eyes still drawn towards the bright lights hanging above them. “It’s not just that…” he thinks of dark eyes and the feeling of not having a body, of knowing that he is infinite, and he shakes his head. “It’s nothing, actually.” He grins at Kuroo. “I’m A-okay!”

Kuroo remains looking at Bokuto quietly for a while longer, as if he’s not convinced, but then he smiles and whacks Bokuto’s shoulder good-naturedly. “If you say so.”

After a moment, he adds, “I won’t come over to your place this weekend, but I’ll come by if you ever feel lonely.” He throws Bokuto a wide, brittle smile.

Bokuto takes a while to process this, his heart throbbing painfully against his ribcage.

He cackles, because suddenly he feels so happy, because suddenly he feels so sad, because suddenly his eyes sting a little but he can’t stop the laughter from coursing through him.

“Thanks, man.” He says when his laughter dies down, looking away from his friend.

He ignores the sad little look that Kuroo gives him.

*

“Pumpkin pie?”

Bokuto cocks his head to one side, looking at the slice of pie on the plate in front of him.

Abe only smiles. “My grandson says it’s the season for it.”

“Is pumpkin the same as winter squash?” Bokuto inquires, poking at the pastry with his fork, the crumbs falling onto the side of the plate.

“No. Pumpkins are moist and spongy inside, but they’re almost just as sweet as the winter squash.” Abe takes a bite of the slice on her own plate, as if trying to prove her point.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Bokuto digs in, and after the first bite, his eyes widen as he looks up at Abe. “This is amazing!!” he bellows, spewing some flakes onto the table.

Abe chuckles. “Oh Kou-chan, as lively as ever!”

Bokuto swallows the last of his pie, and accepts Abe’s offer of another slice.

“Does your grandson always bake pies? Does he _only_ bake pies?” Bokuto asks through a mouthful.

“He’s pretty good at making other dishes too. But recently he’s been in the mood to bake,” Abe dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “It’s unfortunate that you couldn’t meet him today.”

Bokuto smiles rather apologetically, scratching his scalp. “Sorry, but I have volleyball practice on Saturdays and Sundays.”

“You college people are so hardworking. My grandson goes home to his parents’ on Friday night, then comes here to visit me the next afternoon and drops off some sweets before he scurries back to school. Such a diligent boy, but I worry that he would tire himself out,” Abe laments, sighing.

“He’s in college too?”

Abe nods. “Right now…is it October? So it means that he’s just started the second half of his first year.”

“Oh!” Bokuto exclaims, “So he’s only a year younger than me? Yet he’s so good at making pies!”

“He’s rather mature for someone so young,” Abe affirms, laughing, “But you also work very hard don’t you, Kou-chan?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Bokuto counters sheepishly, “I take volleyball seriously, and of course I want to graduate safely, but I goof around a lot too.” He gulps down the cup of tea that’s been poured out for him, realizing that it’s gotten cold.     

“How are you settling in, Kou-chan?” Abe asks in a cordial but gentle tone.

Bokuto’s hand twitches, and he sets his cup down, a grin washing over his face swiftly. “I really like the place!” he chirps.

Abe keeps on smiling, but she doesn’t say anything.

The smile on Bokuto’s face slackens. “I really like the place, but…” he lowers his gaze, looking into his empty cup. “It’s a little quiet.”

Silence descends upon the living room. A gentle breeze blows in through the open shoji doors that lead to the patio, and the wind chimes tinkle and clink.

He’s not lying; he truly loves the place. Abe’s house is a traditional Japanese house, with wooden and tatami flooring and a deck that faces the garden, but the second floor is renovated into a separate apartment with its own kitchen and bathroom and a staircase attached against one side of the house that leads to the door of the balcony, which also serves as the entryway to the second floor. The stairwell inside the house was closed off for the privacy of the second floor tenants, and the house has been maintained in this style for two decades now. Ever since then, Abe, previously with her late husband, has rented out the refurbished space following the marriage of their daughter, who moved out and bought a house not too far off.

Bokuto loves that he has his own space. He loves how the house is close enough to campus but it’s not situated too deep within the labyrinth of the city. He loves how the morning light would stream though the windows in his apartment, the ones in his kitchen and where he lays out his futon at night, and how all the windows and doors are sliding ones. He likes how when he ascends or descends the stairs he would have to pass by the patio, giving him a chance to greet Abe in the mornings or evenings.

But – despite all the things that he loves about the place, despite all the propitious circumstances and auspicious advantages, Bokuto feels that something is missing.

He feels that _a lot_ of things are missing.

He _knows_ that a lot of things are missing.

Bokuto pops out of his thoughts, his body jerking upright. “Ah, I’m not implying that this place isn’t good enough!” he blabbers, flailing his hands, “I don’t mean to be so rude! Oh god, I’m so sorry Abe-san! Please don’t kick me out.”    

Abe shakes her head, cutting off his rambling, and she continues on smiling as she encircles her fingers around her cup of tea. “Kou-chan,” she says, “I hope the hum of serendipity will come upon you soon.”

She sips on her tea, and the wind chimes clink.

*

A storm is brewing, and Bokuto is unarmed and helpless.

He listens in sullen silence as his advisor begins to lecture him on the delicacies of youth and how he should cultivate more effort into being an upstanding member of society now that he’s on the brink of adulthood.

He knew that coming to see his advisor was a bad idea, but everyone is required to meet with their respective advisors once a semester. He’s just glad that his is scheduled early on so that he doesn’t have to deal with it later in the year.

After almost an hour, the supposedly inspirational spiel finally comes to an end, and Bokuto is glad that he didn’t break anything in the office as he attempted to contain his restlessness. He practically jumps out of his seat, thanks the faculty member, and dashes out of the office. He goes straight to the staircase, running down the steps, his footsteps a cascade of flurried movements and thumps. He reaches the lobby, excited to be able to go outside and see the sun and –

It’s raining. Very heavily.

The glass windows that run from the ceiling to the floor provide him with a clear outside view, and his shoulders droop as he takes in the scene.

A storm had literally brewed and has now spilled all over Bokuto’s miserable life.

The lobby of the Mathematics building is empty, and Bokuto realizes that it’s 4 pm on a Friday. _Of course no one’s gonna be here._

Bokuto weighs his options. He doesn’t have an umbrella or a raincoat, and he doesn’t have a car. The rain is pouring down in heavy gushes, accompanied by vociferous thunderclaps. These circumstances cross off a few of his options, and he’s left with only a few:

1)     Just run home in the rain, praying that he won’t get struck by lightning or slip and fall down and crack his skull.

2)     Wait inside the building, where it’s dry and warm until the rain mellows out, but risk the probability of dying of boredom.

3)     Break into one of the staff’s office rooms and try to find an umbrella or any form of protective gear that would shield him from the storm, and then proceed with option 1.

4)     Call one of his friends who owns a car to pick him up, but now that he thinks about it, he shouldn’t encourage or promote driving in this kind of weather. Even _he_ knows that it would be stupidly dangerous.

5)     There’s no other option, really.

With a groan that stretches out into a roar, Bokuto plops down onto one of the lounge chairs, determined to not be dispirited. It’s the weekend after all, and he’s not going to let the rain snuff out the gaiety that comes in concurrence with The Weekends.

 _Instead of sitting around, I could do some exploring!_ He leaps to his feet and pats himself on the back for coming up with a brilliant idea. He hoists one of the straps to his backpack over his shoulder and marches off towards the corridors. He’s been a student there for almost two years but he’s never really explored the building, or any of the many other buildings on campus for that matter. He goes to his classes and the cafeteria and is sometimes forced to see his advisor, but that’s about it. The only place that matters to him is the gym.

He whistles as he walks past the rooms, most of which are closed and locked, but he comes by a large, white-washed room with roundtables and he stops. Standing at the doorway, he pokes and cranes his neck inside the room, expression curious. He feels his face realigning in a more somber expression, his jaw set, his eyes focused, and he stands up properly, but his gaze doesn’t waver or move from its subject of fixation.

Akaashi is sitting at one of the tables, and he’s staring out the large glass window to his right, hands resting on his lap, his laptop, books, and pens left untouched on the table in front of him.

The rain lashes out against the window glass, streams of water running down the transparent plane in an endless loop, but it’s strange how quiet it is in the room.

Bokuto feels his legs moving, carrying him closer to where Akaashi is. He does not resist the gravitation.

He’s so close, so near now, and he can see how long and thick Akaashi’s eyelashes are as he continues to stare at his side profile, and how his cheekbones seem as of they were chiseled by the most gifted sculpture artist, and how his ebony hair swirls and falls in soft messy curls over his neck and forehead.

His presence has yet to be detected, and gradually he notices that he can actually hear the harsh sound of the rain beating relentlessly on the earth’s surface, the cacophony slightly muted because they’re indoors.

There’s a sharp intake of air, and he realizes half a second later that it came from him, and the spell breaks. Akaashi turns his head and tilts it upwards, looking at Bokuto with an impassive expression.

Bokuto notes that their distance must make it hard for Akaashi to meet his face so he hastily takes a step backwards, tripping over his own foot, and he falls down with the gracefulness of a goose, squawking as he flaps his arms and lands on his bottom.  

Akaashi gets up. “Are you alri –”  

“Fine!!” Bokuto hollers, “I’m very fine!” he barks out a laughter as he scrambles to his feet. “I’m just a little clumsy! Don’t worry about me!”

“If you say so,” Akaashi responds, eyeing him a little skeptically. He takes a seat, folding his hands on the table, and asks, “How can I help you?”

“Eh?” Bokuto squeaks.

Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “Are you not here to see me?”

Bokuto’s heart pounds wildly in his chest. “Am I?”

“I’m holding my office hours. So I’m assuming that you’re here to ask for some help with the materials that we’ve covered in class this week?”

 _Duh_.

“Oh! Right! You’re absolutely right. I’m here to get some help on the homework assignment,” Bokuto says, his heart rate slowing down.

He pulls out a chair across from Akaashi and sits down, setting his bag next to his leg.

Akaashi looks at him, expression unchanging. “Well?”

Bokuto blinks. “Well what?”

Akaashi closes his eyes momentarily and sighs, before opening them again. “Which part of the assignment are you having trouble with?” he elaborates patiently.

Bokuto snaps his fingers. “Of course! I knew what you meant,” he grins, but he’s sweating and internally reprimanding himself for being so clueless. He whips out his laptop and stares at the screen, his inane grin wiped off his face.

“Where are we supposed to get the homework problems?”

This time Akaashi doesn’t bother to hide his irascibility as he frowns, lips flattened in a thin line. “The course website.”

“I knew that too! I just temporarily forgot,” Bokuto raves, quickly opening the webpage and silently praying that he doesn’t look _too_ much like a fool.

He hasn’t even started on the homework – heck, he didn’t even _know_ that he has homework. He stares wide-eyed at the screen, fingers lying on the keyboard.

“You didn’t even know that you had weekly assignments, did you?”

Bokuto peers tentatively over his laptop and is met with Akaashi’s unimpressed face.

Akaashi sighs. “It’s alright,” he says, “Since you’re already here, you might as well get a start on it.” He careens his head in the direction of the window. “I’m staying here until the rain stops, and I can offer you my assistance should you ever need it.”

Bokuto thanks the heavens.

He works on the assignment, borrowing Akaashi’s pencil when he realizes that he doesn’t have one, and gets it done in under half an hour, hooting in victory and relief after punching in the numbers into the website’s system.

The storm has subdued, replaced by a light drizzle.

Bokuto closes his laptop with a light thud, and Akaashi looks up from the book he’s reading. “Done?”

Bokuto nods, smiling.

There’s a miniscule of a smile touching Akaashi’s lips, so small and imperceptible that Bokuto nearly misses it.

“So you don’t need my help, after all,” Akaashi states, an eyebrow arched.

Bokuto gives a weak laugh, scratching his head. “’m caught red-handed. I wasn’t even aware that I had homework, so I didn’t really come here to ask for help.”

Akaashi shuts his book close, hands placed neatly on the cover. “Whatever brought you here in the first place, I’m just glad that you at least managed to get the work done. If you hadn’t known about this, it means that you’ve already missed the first two assignments.”

Bokuto looks at Akaashi, their eyes meeting, and there it is again; that calmness draping over Bokuto in a hush of tranquility.

_Serendipity._

“A-anyway! How long do your office hours go on for?”

“It ends at 5,” Akaashi checks his watch, “It’s a little over 5 now, so I guess I’ll head back.” He looks at the window. “Luckily, the rain has stopped now.”

“How admirable! Holding office hours on a Friday evening! I could never sacrifice my Fridays like that,” Bokuto says nonchalantly as he packs his things up.

“It’s not a sacrifice.”

He looks up at Akaashi, who’s casting a steady gaze at him.

“Right,” he says, “I’m sorry for wording it that way.”

Akaashi slips his jacket on, zips up his sling bag and pulls it over his head, adjusting it across his body, and Bokuto stands up to leave with him.

They flick off the light switches and head to the lobby.

“By the way, how did you know that I’m from your calculus class when I came in? I mean, the class is huge and I could have just been some random student who got lost and stumbled upon the room that you were in and –”

“Your hair,” Akaashi interjects calmly, “I remember that you were talking with Oikawa-san on the first day.” He glances at Bokuto, “I don’t think anyone could ever forget you after seeing your hair.” He walks out of the building as Bokuto’s hand flies up to his spiked-up hair, streaked with black and white, suddenly feeling self-conscious. _Self-conscious? Since when did I ever –_

“Hey!” he shouts at Akaashi’s back after he goes out the building, his reaction a little too late.

Akaashi raises a hand over his shoulder without looking back. “See you in class,” Bokuto hears him saying.

Bokuto feels his lips curving into a smile. “See you later,” he murmurs.    

*

For the first time in his educational career, Bokuto feels genuinely excited and optimistic about going to class. Sure he’s felt giddy about school before, but it’s usually caused by some kind of sports or cultural event or the last day of the semester or Free Bento Day when he was in grade school.

But now.

He has two days of the week – three if he counts Fridays during office hours – where he would be able to see Akaashi in class. And for some reason, Bokuto feels so _happy_ at the thought. So strangely happy that Kuroo keeps saying during morning practice that he’s been abducted by aliens and replaced by a doppelganger for looking forward to attending class. 

But that happiness is dashed now.

“I’ll give you 10 minutes to solve the problem, then you can leave. Once you’re done, you can pass it to one of the TAs on your way out. They’ll be walking around, so all you need to do is raise your hand if you need any assistance.”

Bokuto’s eyebrows draw together over the bridge of his nose, his forehead creasing as he concentrates on the question shown on the projection screen. It’s a word problem, and he has no semblance of a clue on where he should start. He chews on his bottom lip, his eyebrows quivering, his fingers tightening around the mechanical pencil in his hand. He leans his body to the left, trying to take a peek at the answer of the guy sitting next to him. The guy whips his head to the side and glares at Bokuto, who quickly looks away, whistling innocently until his stingy, unhelpful classmate goes back to finishing his answer.

“4 minutes left.”

Bokuto wants to scream and panic, but he quells the urge, rereading the question instead in hopes that it’ll make more sense.

It doesn’t, and he wants to punch himself.

“Do you need help?”

Bokuto swears he could see light halos illuminating from behind Akaashi as he nods fervently, blinking back tears and barely stopping himself from getting to his knees and thanking his savior.

Akaashi doesn’t notice his reverence though, focusing instead on the screen. “Tell me what you understand from the question.”

“Uh, it wants me to crunch some numbers.”

“Very insightful,” Akaashi remarks drily, before bending forward a little so he could get his eye level the same as Bokuto’s. He starts to explain the concept that needs to be applied in order to solve the problem, but Bokuto’s attention is used instead to meditate on how freaking _thick_ Akaashi’s eyelashes are and how the sharp slope of his nose makes his features so –

“Do you understand?”

He does not understand a single damn thing.

He blinks once, before his face splits into a grin. “I do now. Thanks a bunch!”

Akaashi nods and walks over to another student who has her hand raised.

He turns in a blank sheet of paper for the pop quiz, passing it to Akaashi on the way out and dashing away.

*

“There’s a party tomorrow night. I think we’re going for karaoke or something. You coming?”

Bokuto turns the faucet off, and lifts the collar of his shirt up until his forehead to wipe the sweat on his face before letting it fall down around his neck again. “Probably not.”

Kuroo’s face contorts into a smirk. “Oho? What’s this? You got some plans that you’re not telling me?”

Bokuto nudges him in the ribs, grinning playfully. “It’s nothing like that.”

They walk back into the gym with their bottles refilled. “It’s just. Well, I’m staying back after classes to go to office hours.”

Kuroo drops his water bottle, along with his jaw. “ _Come again?_ ”

“I know I know, what’s happened to me, am I really Bokuto, did aliens kidnap me, yeah, I know,” Bokuto says, waving his hands around. “But I don’t know man, I just –” he rubs the nape of his neck, a little lost on what he’s going to say. He doesn’t even really know why he feels that he should go, why he _wants_ to go.

Kuroo bends down to pick his bottle up, eyes never leaving his friend. He takes a swig from it, then looks away, expression meditative. “I’m glad,” he says finally, smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kuroo looks at Bokuto, lips still curved in a smile, “If you need to go, then you should. I’m proud that for the first time since I’ve become friends with you, you’re actually motivated to do something to improve your grades,” he teases.

“Shut up!” Bokuto retorts, face growing hot.

“What class is this for?”

“Calculus. The basic one.”

Kuroo frowns a little. “But you’re good at math.”

Bokuto makes a face. “This is a little different. There’s a lot of wordy questions and concept application.” He sighs, “And I thought that I could use this class to boost my GPA, too.”  

_But I got something else out of it._

He shakes his head. “Anyway, sorry I can’t come to the party.”

“Meh. Don’t worry about it, it’s just going to be the usual.” He places a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder, his face sketched with an austere expression, the one that confuses people as to whether he’s actually being really serious or dicking around. “You, my friend, you go see your instructor and study hard. Don’t let our one day off from practice go to waste.”  

Bokuto goes along with it, gripping Kuroo’s shoulder in return. “I won’t betray your trust.”

“Those two idiots over there, we’re resuming practice so hurry up,” Oikawa calls out from the middle of the court.

*

“Hey!”

Akaashi looks up from his laptop. “Hello,” he replies curtly.

Bokuto drags a chair out and plops down, unzipping his bag to take out his laptop and calculator. He digs around his bag and manages to procure a pencil, holding it up proudly. “I didn’t forget it this time.”

“Congratulations,” Akaashi deadpans, regarding Bokuto with an analytical gaze.

Bokuto sets his things on the table, before looking up and meeting Akaashi’s eyes. “Is- is something the matter?”

Akaashi’s gaze flickers back to his laptop screen. “Nothing.”

“What is it?” Bokuto asks, curious, leaning over the table and stretching his arms out. “Tell me,” he whines, stomping his legs underneath the table and kicking up a fuss.

Akaashi flips the screen down, grimacing. “I was just thinking “Ah, he actually came back.” Satisfied?”

Bokuto lifts his head, his back straightening. “What makes you think that I wouldn’t?”

Akaashi folds his arms across his chest, leaning back into his chair. “You confessed that you forgot all about your homework last week and you handed in a blank piece of paper for yesterday’s pop quiz,” he says dully.

Bokuto places a hand over his heart, wheezing in shock, “So you assumed that I’m not taking this course seriously?”

Akaashi gives him a pointed look.

“I’m just a helpless student who needs guidance! Which is why I’ve come here! Give me the benefit of the doubt, Akaashi!”

Bokuto pauses in his theatrical ministrations.

He just said Akaashi’s name out loud for the first time.

Has he always remembered Akaashi’s name ever since the first time he announced it on the first day of class? Has the knowledge always floated around in the subconscious of his mind, waiting to be picked up and rolled off on his tongue, to be spoken in his voice, to be recognized and acknowledged?

He wonders if Akaashi notices.

Akaashi has only sighed quietly and shaken is head, his attention gone back to his laptop.

“The benefit is now bestowed, so you can proceed with your work without any drama now.”

Bokuto’s face slowly lights up into a huge smile.

They sit in silence, the scratches of pencil against paper and the taps and clicks of the keyboard the only sounds heard, and Bokuto steals a glance a couple of times, only to cursorily snap his gaze downwards again when Akaashi looks up at him.

“Woah!”

Akaashi flinches as Bokuto’s voice cleaves through the silence.

“I can’t believe I’m already done with it!” Bokuto continues.

Akaashi checks the time. “Well, you’ve been sitting here for an hour now, doing nothing but your homework. It shouldn’t be that surprising.”

“You don’t understand – I _never_ finish my work in one sitting,” Bokuto says emphatically. Actually, he never actually finishes his work on his own volition.

“Then I suppose I should congratulate you again,” Akaashi says blandly.

Bokuto doesn’t really know how to react, so he giggles and says, “You know, I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or genuine.”

“You’re not the first to feel that way.”

Akaashi is still tapping away on his keyboard, eyes glued to the screen.

Bokuto slumps forward, elbows on the table and hands placed under his jaw, eyes riveted on the person sitting in front of him.

“Is there anything that I can help you with?” Akaashi says without tearing his eyes away from his laptop, as if he could feel the weight of Bokuto’s gaze on him.

Bokuto drops his hands to his lap, fingers twisting around. “Um. Not really.”

Akaashi’s fingers stop in their movements, and he finally looks up. “I could never sacrifice my Fridays.”

Bokuto cocks his head to one side. “Eh?”

“That’s what you said,” Akaashi clarifies, and gives a moment for Bokuto to make the connection.

“Oh! Oh, right!” Bokuto bows his head, scratching the back of it, and laughs, embarrassed.

“And yet you’re here, doing your homework and idling around after finishing it,” Akaashi points out.

“I, um, I evolved?”

“Right. Of course you did,” Akaashi intones, nodding once. His looks of indifference makes it hard for Bokuto to tell what he’s thinking, but he’s taken a break from doing what he’s doing on his computer and is paying attention to Bokuto, and he takes it up as a good sign.

“Enough about me,” Bokuto tries to divert the subject, flapping his hand, “What about you? Are you doing your homework?”

Akaashi nods, eyes skirting back to the laptop as he leans back in his chair. “It’s for my writing emphasis course.”

“Is that like a literature class?”

“No. It’s a psychology class, but it focuses a lot on writing reports and reviews.” He tucks his bangs behind an ear and tugs the lobe, face pensive.

Bokuto doesn’t even feel his own face sagging, eyes drooping and mouth hanging open, enraptured.

Akaashi notices it, having looked up from his work. “You’re going to drool if you don’t close your mouth,” he says, a small frown crinkling his eyebrows.

Bokuto snaps his mouth shut and licks his lips. “So yeah, uh, what’s this class you’re taking?”

The merest curve of Akaashi’s lips sends Bokuto’s heart fluttering and tells him that he’s amused.

“Never mind the class,” Akaashi says, the tiny smile still lingering, “I’m sorry for getting distracted.”

“No need to apologize!” Bokuto grins. He then looks up to the ceiling, thoughtful, steepling his hands, pushing the fingers together and relaxing them again. “Wait, what major are you?” he asks, frowning.

“Psychology.”

Bokuto presses his palms together, fingers aligned, and positions them under his chin, lips pursed. “But you’re a TA for this class?”

Akaashi raises an eyebrow sharply. “Are you implying that I’m not qualified for this position?”

“No no no!” Bokuto quickly amends, waving his hands around frantically, “I didn’t mean that!”

“I know you didn’t,” Akaashi cuts in, “I’m just joking.”

He sees the subtle pull of Akaashi’s lips, and he drops his hands. “Oh,” he says dumbly, then laughs. _Akaashi will be the death of me._

“This calculus course is required for my major. I took it last semester, and got offered a position,” Akaashi taps a finger against the edge of the table, “I saw it as an opportunity to gain experience.” He absentmindedly traces circles on the surface of the table. “The math department is one of the few departments that offer teaching assistant positions to undergraduates, and Nekomata-sensei is a great professor. I did not see any reason to refuse the offer.”

“That’s really amazing!” Bokuto throws his arms in the air then sways them over the back of his chair, letting them hang limply behind him as he cambers against the back rest, head slanted upwards, eyes raised to the ceiling, face still painted with a sanguine smile. “I wish I could be as scholarly! Is that how you use the word? Scholarly?” He suddenly lurches forward, smiling even more widely. “But I’m pretty athletic!”

Akaashi slouches forward a little, resting his chin on his palm. “Are you now?”

“Yeah! Totally! I’m the ace of the volleyball team!” Bokuto announces proudly, chest puffed out.

“Volleyball,” Akaashi repeats, but it sounds like a question. “Is that how you know Oikawa-san?”

“Ugh, yeah,” Bokuto pulls a face, “He’s a great player and we work pretty well on the court, but outside of volleyball we can’t really click.”

Akaashi hums.

“Man, I really wish I could only just play volleyball all the time,” Bokuto makes whipping motions with his right hand, “Studying is not my strongest suit.”

“You don’t say.”

“Hey!”

Akaashi ignores the indignant remark. “What’s your major?”

“Computer science,” Bokuto says breezily. “I’m a second year and I’ve started taking other higher leveled calculus classes too, but I thought that taking an easy math course would help improve my GPA. Didn’t think it would require _this_ much work,” he admits.

Akaashi continues to observe him, listening raptly, so he decides to elaborate further. “I like math, but I’m not good with applying concepts, or when the questions are too wordy. Physics was one of the courses that I had to take, and I sucked at it! It was super hard,” he gripes, a pout forming on his lips.

“Your hair defies the laws of physics, maybe that’s why it wants to avenge itself,” Akaashi comments with a straight face.

Bokuto takes a moment to realize that it’s another one of Akaashi’s dry jokes, but it’s a shorter time span than before, and he guffaws, slapping a hand on the table. “Maybe that’s why!” Then he frowns, contemplating the words. “Actually, that does make sense…” he mumbles.

This time it’s Akaashi who breathes out a laughter, bringing a knuckle over his mouth, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Bokuto stops breathing, stunned by the sight, and he could hear the thrum of his own heartbeat, the feeling of repose and calmness lulling over him in a warm glow that fills his chest.

Akaashi’s phone vibrates from where it is on the table, and he says “Excuse me” before answering it, as Bokuto snaps out of whatever state he was in just now. He seriously needs to pull himself together, because all these psychedelic trips are starting to freak him out.

Akaashi’s phone call is short, and he pockets his phone after the conversation ends.

“Everything okay?” Bokuto prompts.

“Yes, everything is fine,” Akaashi assures, his hands packing up his possessions in nimble movements. “But it’s 5 now, and I need to head back.”

Bokuto wilts. “Oh.” Then he springs back up again when a thought strikes him. “But you’ll be here next week right?”

Akaashi stares at him, expression inscrutable and gaze arcane.

Then he nods, once. “I’ll be here every Friday.”

“Great!” Bokuto says, not saving a moment to be perturbed by the look Akaashi gave him because he’s already too happy. “I’ll come again next week, and the week after that, and the week after that. I’ll come by all the time!”

“If that’s what you want.” Akaashi has already donned his sweater and bag, and they walk out the room together, ambling in the corridor side by side.

“I’ve been wondering…” Akaashi starts, and Bokuto turns his head. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Me? Not really?”

Akaashi narrows his eyes. “You’re wearing shorts and flip-flops, and it’s almost November. I could get cold just by looking at you.”

“But I’m wearing long sleeves!” Bokuto supplies jubilantly, holding his arms out and flexing the muscles. “I hate long sleeves though, they force me to hide my guns.”

Akaashi gives him a look of disapproval when he tries to roll his sleeves up to exhibit his biceps. He shrugs them down to his wrists again when they get outside, the wind picking up and sending dry leaves tumbling past their feet.

“I go this way, so I guess I’ll see you around?” Bokuto says, offering a smile, when Akaashi starts to head in the other direction.

Akaashi stops in his tracks, staring at Bokuto with his mouth half open, then he closes it, dropping his gaze on the pavement.

“I… I still don’t know your name,” he says quietly, raising his eyes again to meet Bokuto’s.

“Oh. Um.” Bokuto rubs his nose, “Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou.”

“Well then, I’ll see you around, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi gives a hint of a smile, turns around, and walks away.

_Bokuto-san._

Heat flares across Bokuto’s cheeks, and he doesn’t start moving until Akaashi’s silhouette disappears in the distance.

*

Bokuto pops the pills in his mouth and gulps them down with some water, leaning his back against the kitchen sink. His phone pings, signaling a new text, and he swipes it open.

_Don’t forget to take your meds._

His lips quiver a little, but they’re curved in a small smile as he taps out a reply to his sister.

He rolls out his futon, switches the light off, and crawls underneath the covers. The window is directly above his head, and he stares at the dark canvas of the atmosphere, skyglow pollution skirting the aerial gamut.

He spots the blinking red light of an airplane and his eyes trail it until it disappears out of sight, and he lies still, the ticking of the wall clock that Kenma gave as a house-warming gift rippling through the air. He reaches a hand out towards the window, the light from outside bright enough for him to make out and trace the outline of his fingers as he spreads them.

_It’s lonely._

He curls the digits, and drops his hand over his eyes.

_I’ll see you around, Bokuto-san._

He lies on his side, curling up and pulling the blanket over his face.

His lips are trembling, but he can feel them forming a smile.

 

 


	2. tangy sweetness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is an initiation of an acquaintanceship built on friendly and informal terms.”

Bokuto comes home after his morning run when the sun is peeking over the horizon, winding down and coming to a stop when he sees a sleek black car parked outside. Abe is hugging a slender woman with long, wavy black hair, and something inside Bokuto twists painfully.

The woman goes in on the passenger side, and Abe leans close to the window, smiling as she nods and says something. The window rolls up and the car drives away, with Abe waving goodbye.

“Who was that?” Bokuto asks when the car turns at a junction.

“Oh. Good morning, Kou-chan,” Abe greets, and Bokuto gives a little bow.

“That was my daughter,” she says fondly, “She came to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?!”

Abe gives a little laugh. “Not that kind of goodbye. She’s leaving for Europe. Her flight is in a couple of hours, I think.”

“Oh, okay! Is she going on a vacation?”

“She’ll be holding a concert tour,” Abe says with a twinkle in her eyes. “She’s a pianist.”

Bokuto gapes in awe. “That’s so rad!”

“But she’ll be away for 2 months, and as always, the thing that gets her wound up and high-strung is her son, even though she’s usually so flighty,” Abe says with a chuckle. “I’m in no position to say that though, since she’s just like me.”

Bokuto frowns. “What’s wrong with her son? Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s perfectly fine. My daughter, though, is glum because she won’t be seeing him for quite a while.”

Bokuto’s frown recedes, his eyes softening. “Ah, I see.”

Abe touches his hand. “Come on inside, I’ll make some tea. It’s really cold in the mornings, don’t you think?”

He lets her guide him into the house as he smiles. “Yes, it is,” he agrees.

*

As always, Bokuto is one of the first to arrive in class, making himself comfortable at the back while the other seats slowly fill up in the next ten to fifteen minutes. The lecturer would arrive after all the other TAs have, and the TAs would usually come in about ten minutes before class starts.

Bokuto starts bouncing his legs and listing off prime numbers when he stops fiddling with his phone, anticipating Akaashi’s arrival. Nekomata-sensei plods in through the door at the front of the lecture hall, and Bokuto frowns, shifting his gaze towards the huddle of teaching assistants who are now greeting Nekomata.

_Is he late?_

The class starts without any signs of Akaashi and with Bokuto worrying his lip. It drudges on with him clenching his pencil so tightly that his knuckles turn white and the petite, blond girl sitting to his right tells him in a squeaky, panicked voice that he’s going to break both the pencil and his fingers. It ends with him fidgeting around as he watches a few students come up to Nekomata and the TAs to ask questions and sort out a few quick things. He goes up to the lecturer when the student before him finishes his business, clearing his throat and clutching on to the straps of his backpack.

“How may I help you?”

Bokuto darts a glance at Oikawa, and seeing that he’s engaged in a conversation with one of the other TAs and two students, he asks, “Is… is Akaashi okay?”

Nekomata blinks at him.

“I – I mean, he’s not here today so I was wondering where he went or if something came up or – um, yeah.”

Nekomata conjures up a grin that borders on cheeky and all-knowing. “He’s alright. He just has some family issues to attend to this morning. He’ll be here for Thursday’s class.”

“Oh. Okay, then,” Bokuto breathes, a smile scrawled across his face. “Thank you!” he turns and skips out of the room.

“What did you tell him that has him so happy?” Sugawara asks as he turns off the projector and collects the papers on the table, stacking and putting them near Nekomata’s briefcase.

Nekomata chuckles and simply says, “Who knows?”

*

“For this question, you need to find the first derivative, and then set it equal to zero. Do you know what to do next?”

“Not really?”

Bokuto stands frozen at the doorway, soaking in the scene in front of him. Someone else had beaten him in being Akaashi’s first and sole client, and he proceeds to gape and stand locked in disbelief for the next few minutes until Akaashi raises his head and notices him.

“Bokuto-san?”

Injected with a renewed sense of awareness, Bokuto sticks a hand up, waving and smiling as he trots closer to the roundtable where Akaashi and the girl are sitting at. He takes a seat across Akaashi, with the girl sitting between them.

“Hey hey hey! How’s everything going?”

“Things are going well,” Akaashi says, almost mechanically, as if he always replies that sort of question on autopilot according to the same template, and asks, “How are you?”

“Never been better!” Bokuto says (lies).

“So, Akaashi-kun, after I solve for x, what do I need to do?” the red-haired girl asks in a rather bored tone, the vowels stretched out in a drawl, as she bites the end of her pencil.

Akaashi explains the steps to solve the question, and she goes back to finishing her work as he regards Bokuto with a lifted eyebrow. “Have you started on this week’s homework?”

“If I have, my name wouldn’t be Bokuto Koutarou!”

“I don’t think that’s something you should be proud of,” Akaashi states, and Bokuto grins, taking out his things from his bag and setting them on the table.

He quietly hums the tune of a song that he’s been listening a lot to recently, feeling happy that they could pick up on the nice, comfortable ambiance that they had the previous week.

“Hey, do you mind if I eat?”

Both Akaashi and Bokuto turn their heads towards the girl who’s holding up a bag of chips.

“No, I wouldn’t mind,” Akaashi says, and she rips the bag open, burying her hand into it and taking out a handful. She munches on her snack while she does her assignment, the crunching sound of the chip being grounded by her teeth billowing the room with an obnoxious cadence.

Bokuto glares at his laptop screen, lips hitting a hard line, eyes twitching.

She finishes the bag of chips in record speed and Bokuto takes a deep breath, glad for the lack of auditory cataclysm.

She fishes out a box of pocky and Bokuto feels a vein popping in his forehead. At least munching on pocky isn’t as audibly violating.

“The system says that my answer is wrong, even though I’ve checked the steps that I did,” she pipes up, “Can you go over my work for this question real quick?”

She passes Akaashi the scratch paper that she used to write down her work, and Akaashi scans it, pointing out a misstep a few seconds later. She changes her answer and smiles a lazy smile. “That worked. Thanks, Akaashi-kun.”

“No problem,” Akaashi replies, impassive as ever.

The girl starts clearing up her things as she drones, “I’m glad your slot isn’t as packed the others’. I sometimes go to Oikawa-kun’s and Sugawara-kun’s but they’re usually kind of congested? It puts me off, to be honest.”

“They’re both good teachers and can explain the materials very smoothly,” Akaashi posits, “And their office hours are held during times which are more compatible for a regular student’s schedule.”

“Or the people in our class are just a coquettish bunch,” she says around a lazy smirk.

Akaashi quirks an eyebrow, not really getting her point, and despite the big word, Bokuto manages to catch the implication of her statement, and he feels a blush creeping up his neck.

“Maybe I’ll go to Yaku-kun’s office hours and scout what his are like. Well anyway, thanks for your help, Akaashi-kun.” She leaves the room, finishing her pocky on her way out.

“Are you alright? Your face is red, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto claps his cheeks with his hands.

“No it’s not!” he argues, his lips puckered between his smushed cheeks.

“If you say so,” Akaashi says, giving him a flat look, before returning his attention to the book he’s reading.

They sit like that for a while, the rifling of turned pages and the scrape of pencil lead against paper the only sounds filling the air, until Bokuto hits the last question on the assignment and gulps.

“Uh, Akaashi.”

“Hm?”

“Can you help me with the last question?” Bokuto requests, scratching his cheek.

“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.” Akaashi asks to see Bokuto’s laptop, and reads out the question to him, before asking him leading questions that would help Bokuto generate a clear idea of what needs to be done in order to solve the problem.

“Oh! That makes a lot of sense!” Bokuto calculates the final answer and types it in, grinning when the system tells him it’s correct.

“It’s pretty easy if I have someone guiding and helping me, but if I don’t, then I don’t think I can really solve a question like this. It’s too wordy and it messes with my head.” Bokuto scrunches his nose, as if disgusted by the very idea of wordy mathematical questions.    

“Then shall we try to tackle that problem?” Akaashi suggests, putting his book down and shutting it close.

A little stunned, Bokuto looks at him, trying to formulate the correct response. “You’d do that? For me?”

“Yes?” Akaashi says it as if he finds it odd that Bokuto would be astounded by a meager gesture of help.

The corners of Bokuto’s mouth twitches into a smile. “Okay,” he breathes, “Okay,” he says again, firmer this time, the fact sinking in.

They spend the remaining time working through examples of wordy, convoluted questions, and by 5 o’clock, Bokuto’s energy tank is reduced to a minimum, his brain defunct and puffing out imaginary smoke.

“You did well, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto sits bolt upright, his energy levels shooting up, a broad grin painting his features. “I did, didn’t I?!”

Akaashi blinks at the sudden switch in Bokuto’s mood, but then he nods, a one-pixel smile brushing his lips.

Bokuto blushes a little, dipping his head and rubbing his nose. His phone vibrates as a text rolls in, and he opens it to reveal that it’s from Kuroo.

_Terushima couldn’t believe it when I said that you’re spending your Friday evenings studying._

Bokuto is about to reply when another one comes in.

_He demands proof._

Bokuto chews his bottom lip, glancing at the phone in his hand and at Akaashi, and back at his phone again.

“Is something the matter?” Akaashi is supposed to be occupied with packing his stuff up, but he has somehow noticed Bokuto’s apprehensiveness.

“Um, is it uh, is it okay if we take a selfie?” Bokuto asks haltingly, looking at anywhere but Akaashi.

He hears the question in Akaashi’s elevated eyebrows and hastily adds, “It’s my friends! They, um, they want proof that I’m actually studying and not just flaking out on them!”

Akaashi hums in thought, then he gives a small nod. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay. I’ll take a selfie with you.”

Bokuto almost squeals in delight, but settles for a bright, mega-watt smile as he keenly moves to the empty seat next to Akaashi’s.

“Okay, I’m gonna hold up my calculator. It’ll make it look more believable.”

Akaashi rolls his eyes as Bokuto stretches his left arm upwards, his tongue sticking out as he tries to find a nice angle where their faces and the calculator in his right hand would get in the shot. Akaashi shifts closer, his shoulder touching Bokuto’s, and Bokuto almost drops his phone.

He manages to get a decent shot despite the fact that he feels as if he’s on fire, and sends the picture to Kuroo.

They’re walking out the room when he receives a reply.

_Holy shit?! That’s the TA you’ve been spending your Fridays with? Sign me the fuck up for calculus._

Bokuto whips his head to the right, checking to see if Akaashi can read what on his screen, but Akaashi is simply looking straight ahead, watching where he’s going like any sensible person would do. A string of messages come in, and Bokuto fumbles for a reply.

_Anyway Terushima says that holding a calculator doesn’t prove anything_

_All he got from that pic was that you’re on a three-way date with the hottie AND the calculator_

_Oh and, he and Oikawa wanna plan a birthday party for me but I think they just want an excuse to throw a party and get shit-faced drunk_

_I havta admit I’m kinda touched though, my birthday won’t be until 2 weeks_

_But anyway, now I’ve gained more understanding and wisdom as to why you’re so enthusiastic about going to this guy’s office hours_

“Bokuto-san, you’re going to run into the wall.”

Bokuto stops in his tracks and is met with a slab of concrete when he looks up from his phone. A skittish laugh escapes him as he maneuvers to the side, out of the way of the wall, and continues walking alongside Akaashi out of the building.

“This is where we part,” Akaashi says, already turning in the other direction, “I’ll see you next week, Bokuto-san. It’s gotten dark, so be careful going home.”

“Y-yeah! You too!” Bokuto waves as he departs, and once Akaashi’s back is turned, he taps out a reply to Kuroo at a furious speed.

_dude it’s not like that!!! I’m seriously here to study ok!!_

_and tell terushima to be prepared to get reckt, imma kick his ass during tomorrow’s practice_

He tries but fails to not to think too much about the fact that he has Akaashi’s picture in his phone.

*

His journey home is uneventful as it always is, with him kicking pebbles and waving at the dogs that he passes by, his hands otherwise jammed in his pockets most of the walk as he whistles a random tune.

He’s about to ascend the stairs up to his apartment when he’s flagged down by Abe, who’s standing at the deck with a ladle in one hand, an apron tied around her waist.

“Just in time, Kou-chan,” she says, waving her ladle around, a grin on her face, “I need some help in the kitchen. Can I count on your good graces to lend me your help?” She seems to be in a very good mood, her joy exuding out of her in happy bubbles.

“Of course!” is Bokuto’s immediate reply, but he’s starting to doubt the extent of his help after he’s burnt the deep-fried tofu and cut his finger while chopping the onions, tears streaming down his face, his eyes stinging from the gas emitted by the darn onions. He’s then reassigned to peeling the potatoes and carrots, tongue poking out as he focuses on his task.

“By the way, why are you cooking so much food, Abe-san? I mean, you’ve never asked me to pitch in before – and I don’t mind helping you out in anyway I can! But what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, how silly of me!” Abe closes the fridge and moves over to the table with even more carrots and some rapeseed blossoms. “My grandson is coming over!”

“Oh!! No wonder you seem so excited!”

“Ah, is it too obvious?” She tinkles a laugh, as if a little embarrassed, “It’s just that it’s been a long time since he’s stayed over for the night. Usually he comes by on Saturday afternoons and leaves not too long after. But since his mother is in Europe and his father is away on a business trip, he’ll be sleeping over for the next couple of weeks during the weekends.”

“I’m happy for you, Abe-san!”

“Thank you, Kou-chan. And now you can finally meet him too! I’m sure you’ll get along, he used to play volleyball when he was in high school.” She leaves the carrots on the table and brings the rapeseed plants to the sink to wash them, humming as she does so.

“My grandson eats a lot,” she says with a chuckle, “And I know that you’re an athlete, so I’m making lots of food so you boys can eat without any worries!”

“Thank you, Abe-san! You’re so generous, I’m at a loss of how I should repay you,” Bokuto admits, giving a weak laugh.

Abe turns to face him, twisting the faucet off and wiping her hands with a kitchen towel. “You don’t have to repay me,” she says gently, a soft smile on her features.

Bokuto stares at her, then drops his gaze, nodding as a little smile blooms tentatively on his lips.

Abe claps once, “He should be here any time now!” she announces. “I better start on the stew.”

Ten minutes and eight peeled potatoes and carrots later, the doorbell rings, and Abe’s face lights up. “That’s him! Kou-chan, can you continue stirring the pot for me?”

“Definitely!” Bokuto switches places with Abe by the stove as she scurries out of the kitchen.

 _Just how much can the guy eat though…_ Bokuto observes the various dishes that have already been prepared and set on the dining table as he stirs the simmering stew. _He used to play volleyball…so he should be pretty fit?_

Abe’s cheery voice floats into the kitchen, words a bit blurred, accompanied by a deeper, quieter voice that Bokuto presumes to be the grandson’s. Abe’s voice grows louder and clearer as they approach the kitchen, and Bokuto taps his foot as he continues to move the ladle in his hand in circular motions.  

“... – your things in the room first, then come join us in the kitchen.”

Abe reemerges into the kitchen, smiling widely. “Keiji is putting his bag in his room, he’ll be here in just a second,” she says.

“Ah, okay!” _So his name is Keiji huh._

The stew has finally started to boil, and Bokuto realizes that his right arm is starting to get sore. Damn, cooking is one enigma he’ll probably never be able to solve; how can people even do it on a daily basis?

_Keiji. Hmm. Rings a bell. But it’s a pretty common name so –_

“Grandmother, did you move the –”

Bokuto doesn’t finish his thought, and Abe’s grandson doesn’t finish his sentence.

Standing in the doorway is Akaashi, the widening of his eyes and the slight parting of his lips indicators of his astonishment. Bokuto takes it less elegantly, his eyes bulging out of their sockets and his body recoiling in shock, unable to form words as his mouth hangs open.

“What’s wrong?”

Abe’s question drops into the rictus of their paralyzing shock and they snap out of it, Akaashi closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose while Bokuto regains control over his mouth and closes it, eyes still wide as saucers.

“Bokuto Koutarou,” Akaashi states, eyes still pressed close. “Koutarou. Kou-chan. _Of course._ ”

At the sound of his pet name, Bokuto flushes, covering his face with his hands and throwing his head back as he groans. “This is like some kind of drama – I seriously _cannot_ believe this! I’m not dreaming am I?”

He whips his gaze towards Akaashi, a conspiracy theory dawning upon him. “Unless, this _isn’t_ what I think it is and you’re actually _not_ the Akaashi Keiji that I know but a different person who shares the same looks and name –”  

“Name!” he shouts, and, looking at Abe, he says, “He’s Akaashi but you’re Abe, Abe-san!”

Abe is about to open her mouth to say something when he groans again, “Wait, you have a _daughter_ , so Akaashi must be your son-in-law’s name. Oh my god! Okay but my other theory is –”

“Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto immediately fastens his mouth shut, lowering his hands which he was moving around in animated and frantic gestures during his obtuse tirade.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says again, voice steady, but then he sighs, sounding weary. “This isn’t a dream and I’m not some kind of clone; this is reality, and it’s managed to pull a big joke on us.”

“If it’s a joke, then all we have to do is laugh!” Abe intervenes, grinning. Both boys turn their attention to her. “I’m not very clear on what’s happening, but it seems like you two are already acquainted with each other. That saves up time; now we can skip the introductions and go straight to dinner!” She flickers her gaze between the two of them, her grin still wide and bright. “What do you say?”

Akaashi’s stomach lets out a rumbly growl, and he nods, once. “I agree.”

*

They’re seated at the dining table, the myriad of dishes laid out in front of them, with Bokuto sitting across Abe and Akaashi beside her. They say their thanks and start eating, and Bokuto discovers that Abe was _not_ kidding when she said that her grandson eats a lot. Akaashi is a quiet but voracious eater, his chopsticks moving efficiently as heaps of rice are picked up from his bowl and carried to his mouth, interspaced with the entrees. The one doing most of the talk and pleasantries is Abe, with Akaashi giving out little grunts and hums to indicate his responses whenever he’s mentioned in her trajectory, his mouth constantly full.

Akaashi is halfway through his third bowl of rice when Abe says, “I just remembered something! Kou-chan, you told me the first time we met that you style your hair that way to imitate owls right?” She turns to Akaashi, “You used to love owls so much when you were little, Keiji! It seems that you two are tied by so many coincidences.”

Akaashi visibly freezes for a while, before he starts chewing again.

“Grandmother, that was a long time ago,” he says after swallowing.

“Still, it’s a pleasant thing to know, isn’t it, Kou-chan?”

Bokuto chokes on a piece of carrot, quickly grabbing his glass and gulping down the water. He coughs after swallowing it down, thumping his chest and holding his other hand up in an ‘OK’ sign when Abe and Akaashi look at him worriedly.

“Yes, it is,” he finally answers, voice scratchy.

“Are you alright, though?”

“Very alright!” he croaks, trying to sound reassuring. _Very smooth, Koutarou._

Akaashi is looking at him with a placid expression now, chopsticks pressed against his lips, and they both promptly avert their eyes when Bokuto catches his gaze.

After dinner, Akaashi does the dishes, politely – if not rigidly – rejecting Bokuto’s offer to help, and goes to the altar to pay respect to his grandfather. Abe brews some tea, and they migrate to the living area, where Abe switches the television on to watch the news, insisting that Bokuto continue to stay even after he finishes his cup of tea.

Abe decides to turn in for the night some time after 9, reminding them to not stay up too late as she wishes them good night.

Bokuto still has a hard time believing the turn of events.

With Abe gone, silence has cloaked itself around the two of them, the noise from the television receding into indistinctive buzzes as Bokuto’s mind churns to come up with an appropriate remark or comment and spark up a conversation.

_Haha, who would’ve thought that my landlady is your grandma!_

_Hey hey hey, isn’t it funny that a few hours ago you said ‘I’ll see you next week’ but here we are now!_

_Akaashi, do you always eat as if you have nine stomachs and does your grandma always produce enough food to feed my whole volleyball team like it’s no big feat??_

_Akaashi, do you ever wanna dig a hole in the backyard and bury yourself in it?? Hahaha because right now that sounds very tempting_

Bokuto bites back the hysterical screech that he so badly wants to release.

_God, I should really just go upstairs this is so awkward why isn’t he saying anything did I make him feel weird –_

“Do you… do you want to watch anything in particular?”

Bokuto is jerked out of his reverie, sliding his eyes from the floor to Akaashi, who pointedly does not look at him.

“N-no, not really!” Bokuto affixes a crooked smile, letting out an empty laugh and twisting his fingers around.

Akaashi clicks the remote, flicking through the channels, and, without looking at Bokuto, he says, “You can leave if you want. I don’t want to force you to stay around and make you feel uncomfortable.”

Bokuto stops fidgeting, allowing himself to look at Akaashi properly, and he notices that despite Akaashi’s stoicism, his lips are pressed tightly together and his shoulders are tense.

Nibbling on his lower lip, Bokuto tries to repress his smile.

“You… you’re not making me feel uncomfortable,” he says carefully, hoping to diffuse some of the tension in Akaashi, all the while trying to figure out why Akaashi attempting to hide his own discomfort by acting nonchalant is so _cute_ to him.

The tautness in Akaashi’s shoulders alleviates, and he slowly turns to look at Bokuto, their eyes meeting.

“Then you should stop acting all fidgety, it’s very misleading,” he says bluntly.

Bokuto, affronted, gasps. “It’s not like I can help it! This is a lot to take in and my state of being can only handle so much!”   

Akaashi gives him an unimpressed look for a moment longer, before it crumbles away as he huffs a laugh, tearing his gaze away and trying to keep it under wraps, but the laughter is coursing through him, his body hiccupping in happy little tremors.

“What’s so funny?” Bokuto demands, but even he feels the tinge of a laughter tickling his lips.

Akaashi covers his mouth with a hand, remnants of the laugh still lingering, as he says, “It’s just… I’m glad that the awkwardness is lifted.” The words are a bit muffled, but Bokuto hears them in clarity, almost as clear as the heat that blazes across his entire face.

“I – I’m glad too,” he splutters, willing his face to return to its original color, his eyes occupied with soaking in the image of a laughing Akaashi.

Akaashi clears his throat when he’s done laughing, training his face to its usual look of neutrality. “But in all honesty, I was very surprised that you’re the new tenant that I keep hearing about since the past couple of months.”

“Likewise. Abe-san talks about you quite a lot and she’s always wanted to introduce us, never thought that I’d already met you!”

“I hope you haven’t heard of anything unpleasant.”

“How could anything ever be unpleasant if it’s about you?” Bokuto says with laugh, but then he catches himself. _Did that come off as too flirty?_

Akaashi seems to have caught it too, from the way his eyebrows elevate, but being courteous, he simply gives a quirk of his lips and doesn’t say anything, turning towards the television again.

Bokuto bites his tongue, and thinks that he just ruined a perfectly good moment.

“There’s a show at 10 that I usually watch with my mother on Fridays,” Akaashi says, eyes trained on the tv screen, “Would you like to watch it together?”

Bokuto’s entire being lights up. “I would love to!”

Akaashi spares him a glance. “Alright, then.” He changes the channel and checks the longcase clock in the corner of the room. “It won’t start until another 10 minutes, so I’m going to get some snacks,” he informs, “Would you like anything, Bokuto-san?”

“Ah, no, I’m good!”

Akaashi nods and gets up, heading to the kitchen.

Bokuto doesn’t know whether to be horrified or impressed over the fact that Akaashi still has room for snacks after the elephantine amount of food that he consumed during dinner. Bokuto himself is still feeling stuffed, and he probably didn’t even half as much as Akaashi did.

Akaashi returns with a bowl of the leftover beef and potato stew and some rice crackers, and Bokuto is starting to believe that Akaashi does, in fact, possess nine stomachs.       

Akaashi sets the food on the low table and folds his legs under him as he sits, mumbling a thanks before he commences on the stew.

_Maybe instead of having multiple stomachs, he just has one that’s bottomless?_

“Unfortunately, I do not have a bottomless abyss for a stomach.”

Bokuto starts, staring at Akaashi with wide eyes. _Did he just read my mind?!_

“Unfortunately, I also do not have mind-reading abilities.”

Bokuto leans away a little, narrowing his eyes. “Then how did you know what I was thinking?”

“I just hazarded a guess,” Akaashi replies through a mouthful, “They’re the usual thought patterns that I garner from people.”

“Oh,” Bokuto drops his suspicion, then bounces back up with a new thought, “But you’re studying psychology right? That must mean that you’re gonna like, develop psychic powers!”

“Most unlikely, but I appreciate your optimism.”

“But psychologists are awesome though! My doc –”

Waiting for further elaboration, Akaashi arches an eyebrow when Bokuto restrains himself from continuing at the realization of what he was about to divulge, his heart rate picking up a speed and his body going cold at the risk of having Akaashi _know,_ but he couldn’t _help_ it, with his tendency to shoot his mouth and with how comfortable and easy it is to be with –

“The show is starting,” Akaashi says calmly, looking at the television screen, and Bokuto’s heart gradually returns to its normal pace. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and when his mind recovers, it dawns upon him just what Akaashi has done for him.

His eyes flutter open, and they fall on Akaashi’s side profile.

He’s suddenly struck with the urge to cry.  

He doesn’t, though, but he turns away and sniffles, and Akaashi does not comment on it.

They remain silent for the next half an hour, and Bokuto manages to feel a lot better during the interval, the show serving as enough of a distraction. Absorbed, he unthinkingly bumps Akaashi’s elbow with his arm, eyes still riveted on the screen.

“Who do you think is gonna be eliminated?” he asks.

Akaashi, a little surprised, blinks at him, before focusing back on the show. “My guess is the guy with the bandanna.”

“What! No way!” Bokuto points at a character that flashes by, “ _He’s_ going to be kicked out for sure.” He angles himself so he could be in Akaashi’s scope of vision. “He’s way more obnoxious that bandanna-dude,” he says seriously.

Akaashi careens his head a little to meet Bokuto’s gaze. “Want to make a bet?”

At the trace of a smirk on Akaashi’s lips, Bokuto sneers. “You’re on! Loser has to do whatever the winner says.”

Akaashi seems to consider this, lips parted as if he’s about to say something, but then he just draws them close and nods affirmatively. “Challenge accepted.”

At 11, when the show’s credit starts to roll, Bokuto is hunched over on all fours, head hanging and eyes pinched shut as he grits his teeth. “I can’t believe I lost!”

He hears Akaashi snicker and he whips his head up, glaring and pouting. He repositions himself so he’s sitting with his legs crossed, shoulders drooped. “But a lost is a lost, and a win is a win,” he grouses, sounding like a petulant child, “So claim your victory and state your command.”

Akaashi fields him an unreadable look that seems to be something of passive contemplation, but there is a certain weight to his gaze that makes Bokuto feel as if he’s the only thing that Akaashi sees, that he is fine with being under the scrutiny of those onyx eyes, that he can lean back and let go without any trepidation of falling down, and even though he’s supposed to be scared of being so vulnerable and exposed, all he’s experiencing is a feeling akin to calmness and security.

The moment breaks when Akaashi’s eyes glide to the side and he hums. “I can’t think of anything in particular right now, so I’ll hold onto that victory and save it for later.”

“Y-yeah, okay, I’m cool with that.” Bokuto looks at the television, the advertisement that’s being shown going over his head as he tries to unravel all these arrays of feelings and thoughts that he’s gone through in the span of a single evening, pivoted around a single person.

“…Bokuto-san?”

Akaashi enters his line of sight and he flinches. “Huh?”

Bemused, Akaashi dips his eyebrows a little. “Are you getting tired?”

“No, I’m fine!”

“But you weren’t listening to what I was saying, so I thought that you were starting to get bored.”

“What! No, I could never think of you as boring!”

“How flattering,” Akaashi says blandly.

Bokuto rubs the nape of his neck, “I’m sorry for spacing out though. Can you repeat what you said?”

Akaashi huffs, both out of exasperation and out of embarrassment at having to say what he said again. “I just said that my mother and I do this sort of thing too. We guess which of the guys are going to be eliminated.” He looks away as he says this, a light pink dusting his cheeks, and when Bokuto realizes that Akaashi’s not that comfortable disclosing that personal account and yet he still chooses to share it with him anyway, he feels nothing short of delighted.

“What are you grinning about?” Akaashi asks, tone clipped and toeing on splenetic when he thinks that he’s being laughed at.

“Nothing! I’m not laughing at you or making fun of you, cross my heart!” Bokuto folds both his hands over the right side of his chest.

“Your heart is on the other side.”

Bokuto scoots his hands over to the left side. “I was just, you know, thinking that it’s nice that you play that guessing game with you mom.”

Akaashi gives him a probing look, but he seems to accept Bokuto’s answer as satisfying enough when he doesn’t press the matter further.

Bokuto leans back on his palms, tilting his head a little. “Do you miss her?”

Akaashi mimics his position, legs stretching out under the table, head tipped upwards. “I… don’t really know. I mean, yes, of course I would like to see her and spend time together, but it doesn’t really feel as if she’s far away.” He lets out an audible exhale. “I’m sorry, that doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

Bokuto shakes his head. “No. That…makes sense to me.” He also turns his eyes upwards, a hand stroking his chin. “It’s something like, when you know that other person loves you and is thinking of you, distance doesn’t make much of a difference?” he flashes a grin out of self-consciousness. “Sorry if that was completely off the mark.”

Akaashi’s eyes flutter shut, a smile seeping up his face. “No…I think you’re right.”

Bokuto gazes at Akaashi’s calm expression, leaning forward and folding his arms on the table, and he involuntarily thinks that he could spend the rest of the night just sitting there, watching Akaashi, the silence of the night cloaking them in a soothing mantle.

Akaashi opens his eyes and leans forward as well, cradling his chin on his hand, his elbow on the table. “So I take it that Grandmother told you about my mother being away for two months?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto confirms, “Oh yeah, when you missed class on Monday – did it have anything to do with that?”

Akaashi nods, “I was at the airport to see her off.”

“I heard she’s a pianist! Which is so cool!”

Akaashi darts a glance towards the old, brown vertical piano sitting against the wall. “I suppose it is,” he agrees, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Can you play too?” Bokuto inquires excitedly.

“A little, and rather poorly.”

“You’re just saying that! Come on, there’s no need for modesty!” Bokuto’s eyes gleam as an idea strikes him. “Will you –”  

“No, I will not play the piano for you,” Akaashi chimes in, face indifferent.

“Akaashi is so stingy!”

Akaashi rolls his eyes, chin still propped on his hand. “And what else has she told you?”

Bokuto taps a finger against his chin, humming in thought as he sifts through his memory. “Ah! You played volleyball!” he points an accusing finger at Akaashi. “You never even mentioned anything about that!”

“That’s because I didn’t see a need to.”

“There’s _always_ a need to talk about volleyball,” Bokuto asserts, eyes astringent.   

“Is that so?”

“Vey much so! So tell me, why did you quit volleyball?”

A quiet sigh escapes Akaashi’s lips. “It’s… to save energy.”

Bokuto blinks owlishly, cocking his head to one side.

Akaashi licks his lips and inhales deeply. “Playing volleyball was a great experience, and I admit that I had a lot of fun, but it required far too much of my energy.” He avoids Bokuto’s eyes. “It’s not really the long practice hours or the amount of commitment that bothers me, but rather…”

Bokuto bows forward, expression getting increasingly inquisitive.

“Spending that much time with other people was extremely taxing,” Akaashi finishes with a sigh.

“Oh, I get it,” Bokuto stabs a finger in the air and twirls it around, “You’re what they call, uh, an impotent, right?”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘introvert’,” Akaashi corrects without missing a beat.

“Yeah, that!” Bokuto snaps his fingers. “So you stopped playing volleyball to conserve energy?”

“You make it sound like I’m trying to save the planet,” Akaashi comments offhandedly, “But yes, that’s true.” He starts to fiddle with his hands as he continues, “The energy that I previously used to practice volleyball and spend a copious amount of time with my teammates is now used to keep up with my college workload.”

“That’s a pretty smart move,” Bokuto remarks, impressed. “So you don’t do any sports now?”

“I’ve taken a liking towards cycling,” Akaashi says, voice level, “It gives me the exercise that I need and I can do it without depending on anyone else.”

“Wow, you’re really serious about this whole energy-efficient deal!”

Akaashi gives the ghost of a shrug.

“I don’t think I could ever stop playing volleyball; I’m totally hooked on it!” Bokuto makes a few wild gestures with his hands. “Hey, now that I think about it, we might’ve passed by each other on the court or something!”

“Perhaps we did,” Akaashi muses.

They continue conversing late into the night, with Bokuto getting into a rant about volleyball, starting from when he was a kid in grade school up until his most recent volleyball practice session (which was the day before), to the various teammates he’s had through the years and their quirks (Akaashi asks him about his own eccentricities to which he replies with a proud chortle and an unhelpful, “I’m the _ace,_ Akaashi.”), and he also takes the chance to mention his best bud Kuroo (Akaashi says, “I recall Oikawa-san complaining about someone of that name before,”). His first and only pet, his favorite food, his decision to study computer science – he rattles on about each of these, but he doesn’t mention anything about his family, and Akaashi doesn’t ask about it.

It’s almost 1 and Bokuto remembers that he needs to take his meds, but he wishes that they could stay up all night and talk. Akaashi, with his constant poker face and calm demeanor, doesn’t talk as much as Bokuto does, but he’s witty and patient and _Bokuto loves talking to him_.

“It’s fine if you’re sleepy and want to head upstairs. There’s no need for you to force yourself to stay here.”

That’s the other thing; Akaashi always seems to know what’s on his mind and can read him so easily.

Their eyes meet, Akaashi’s quiet, hooded eyes with Bokuto’s luminous gold ones, and the instinctive part of him warns him to not let himself be submitted to someone else, to not have another person hold so much power over him, but the human part of him just wants to be engulfed.

“Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto gives him a smile. “I’m not really sleepy, but I do need to hit the hay soon. I have to wake up early for practice, after all!”

They stand up and Akaashi walks with him to the veranda, sliding the doors open as Bokuto picks up his bag.

There’s a quiet moment where they both stand and look at each other, Bokuto rocking on the balls of his heels and Akaashi clasping his hands behind him.

Bokuto’s already slipped his shoes on and is looking up at Akaashi who is on the deck, watching him rather expectantly in his quiet, observant, Akaashi-esque way.

Illuminated by the moonlight, his eyes appear to be dark green instead of black, and Bokuto wonders if it’s the lighting or his own eyes that are deceiving him.

“What’s wrong, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto’s right hand twitches at his side, and he rubs his palm on his trousers when it starts tingling with a weird itch, so overwhelming that it instigates him to stick it out towards Akaashi, who raises a questioning eyebrow in return.

When did his hand gain a mind of its own?

“Um, it’s like, a re-introduction?” Bokuto says nervously, right hand still extended while the other rubs the back of his neck. “We kinda re-met each other tonight, so this is, um.”

He could really use a glass of water at that moment.

“This is an initiation of an acquaintanceship built on friendly and informal terms,” Akaashi states.

Bokuto blinks, lips pursed, then he laughs a little. “Yeah. What you just said. Geez, Akaashi, could you make it sound more robotic?”

Akaashi unclasps the hands behind him and reaches his right hand out, calmly taking Bokuto’s in his own, and Bokuto’s first thoughts are of how slender and thin his fingers are, and how cool his hand is. The following thought is of how he’s actually touching Akaashi, and his throat feels absolutely parched at the realization, but oddly enough, he doesn’t feel as jittery as he thought he would be. Against his expectations, holding Akaashi’s hand soothes his frayed nerves, the cool touch that’s emanated seeping through Bokuto’s own skin and spreading inside of him like ocean currents on low tide.

Akaashi gives his hand a light, almost imperceptible squeeze before he lets go, eyes never leaving Bokuto.

“It’s nice to meet you again, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto curls his fingers, already missing the contact, and drops his hand. He smiles, genuine, but not as brightly as normal, and says, “It’s nice to meet you, Akaashi.”

*

“You’re shitting me.”

“I shit you not, my friend.”

Kuroo gawks at Bokuto. “It’s like a thing that you’d get out of a novel or something,” he says, making vague gestures with his hands.

“Tell me about it,” Bokuto says, spinning a volleyball in his hands.

“Man, what are the chances,” Kuroo mumbles before taking a drink from his bottle. “But you guys are cool right? I mean, you guys aren’t making it weird or anything?”

Bokuto keeps on spinning the ball, expression contemplative. “I don’t think so. We talked like normal and stuff.”

That’s what he believes anyway. He went to bed feeling elated last night, globules of contentment suffusing throughout his body, but he woke up that morning feeling like something was sorely missing, the sensation similar to what he felt after seeing Akaashi for the first time; like his body holds a cavernous hollow. He had come down from his apartment in the morning with a part of him hoping to see Akaashi before he left for practice, but only Abe was up, watering her potted plants and telling him that “Keiji won’t be awake until later,” with a knowing smile.

_I wonder if he’ll still be there when I get back later._

“Earth to Bokuto, which part of the galaxy have you traveled to?”

Bokuto looks at Kuroo, and passes him the ball. “I was just thinking –”

“A dangerous pastime considering the capacity load of your brain.”

“Screw you – so I was thinking, is it too much of a stretch to say that we’re friends? I mean, he said we’re acquaintances and he’s also my TA and all but, I don’t know, is there some kind of rule that says you can’t be friends with your students?”

Kuroo stares at him, deep golden eyes calculating, and Bokuto can practically hear the gears in his mind working at a troublingly incredible efficiency.

“What is it? Dude, stop staring at me like that.”

Kuroo shoots him a peculiar grin, “Sorry, I was just thinking that it’s unbelievable that you’re being so self-conscious about this.”

“Excuse me?!”

Kuroo passes the ball back at him with more force than necessary. “It’s fine isn’t it? If you feel that you’re friends, then you’re friends,” he says insouciantly, bending down to retie his shoelaces. “And Oikawa is your TA too, but that doesn’t do anything to your relationship as teammates.”

Bokuto considers this.

They _did_ shake hands and Akaashi didn’t seem to mind that they now know each other outside of class.

_I mean, it’s not a big deal is it?_

His eyes flicker towards Oikawa who’s on the other side of the court, talking to their coach and captain about their next practice match.

_Should I ask him…?_

Oikawa’s smug expression flashes through his mind and he fervently shakes his head.

_I definitely shouldn’t. I know better than that._

But Kuroo does have a point; since when did he become so self-aware?

*

When he comes back sometime in the afternoon, Abe informs him that Akaashi has gone back to his dorm, and Bokuto’s about to woefully ascend the stairs when she almost magically whips out a food container, handing it to him and saying that Akaashi made lemon drizzle bars. He takes it and utters a thanks, and when he gets upstairs and eats some, he feels that the confection of tangy sweetness and sourness are not unlike the emotions that brew inside of him.

Monday rolls by and he doesn’t get to talk to Akaashi at all during class, when the teaching assistants are making their rounds as the students do some practice problems. Granted, it’s not like they could talk much if they do interact during lecture, but it doesn’t stop Bokuto from wishing that Akaashi would walk by where he’s sitting. Instead, he only gets an eyeful of Oikawa and his annoying smirks.

Thursday tumbles by and an opportunity to have a dyadic exchange with Akaashi still hasn’t arise, and he keeps the thought at bay until the next day when he would finally get the chance to talk to Akaashi during office hours.

For the first time, Akaashi notices him immediately upon his arrival, and he beams as he takes a seat across him.

“Hey there!” he greets, feeling perfectly ecstatic.

“Hello,” Akaashi responds, neutral.

“How has your week been?”

“Relatively normal.”

“Great! Normal is great! Mine is as usual too.”

Akaashi hums in acknowledgment, and Bokuto is about to bring up how he’s acting slightly different than usual when his phone rings.

“Ah, sorry, let me answer this quickly.”

Akaashi merely nods and he slides his thumb over the answer icon. “What’s up?”

_“Where you at?”_

Bokuto throws a glance at Akaashi and hastily turns away when he sees that Akaashi is looking at him rather attentively. “You know where,” he answers, voice going an octave lower.

_“On your date with your hot TA, yeah, I know, but where precisely?”_

Bokuto flies to his feet and whips his body around, the color of his face morphing into a lovely shade of red. “It is _not_ a date,” he hisses into the phone.

 _“Hey, I don’t make the rules to this whole dating process, and the rules indicate that you’re pretty much on dates with him every Friday,”_ Kuroo drawls, _“Anyway, is it the Math building?”_

“Yes the Math Building, why do you even want to know? More importantly, this isn’t a –”  

_“What room?”_

“Room 125 – as I was saying, you’ve got it all wrong because we are not on a fucking da –”

“Seems like a great spot for a date!”

Bokuto stiffens, his entire body going cold.  

He lowers the phone from his ear and thinks about whether he wants to turn around or not. He considers ignoring what he thinks is happening and he studies the windows, wondering if they could serve as his escape route.

“You’re not even gonna come up with a retort?”

Bokuto grits his teeth and turns around, putting on his best and most intimidating glare.

“Why the hell are you here?”

Kuroo leans against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest languidly. “I wonder why.”

Bokuto seethes, but his super sharp eyes detect an item held in Kuroo’s hand, and when he zooms in he finds out that it’s his wallet.

All animosity goes vamoose as his mouth forms an ‘o’ upon his enlightenment.

“You’re welcome,” Kuroo says, unfolding his arms and waving the wallet around as he steps into the room.

“Did I leave it at your place yesterday?” Bokuto asks as the wallet is given to him.

“Yeah. Kenma found it on the couch. My classes just finished so I couldn’t give it to you until now.”

“Thanks, man!”

“Just thanks? Where are your manners, Bokuto?” Kuroo looks at him despondently. “I taught you better than this didn’t I?” He brandishes a credit card from out of nowhere and makes a show of using it to wipe away his nonexistent tears.

Bokuto does a double take and opens up his wallet only to squawk in alarm. “You took out my cards!”

“But not your money,” Kuroo supplies ingratiatingly, “So you can at least buy me a drink as thanks.”   

Bokuto scowls menacingly, his lips twisting in absolute repugnance, “You are unbelievable.”

Kuroo fans himself with the card that he’s holding between his index and middle fingers.

“Ugh fine, I’ll buy you something,” Bokuto relents. He looks over to Akaashi, who’s spectating the whole thing with apparent indifference, and he smiles weakly. “Sorry, Akaashi. I’ll be right back.” He hurls one final glare at Kuroo before he goes out the room.

“That was a very roundabout way of getting him out of the room.”

Kuroo snaps his head to look at Akaashi, feeling rather taken aback, but then he grins lazily. “What ever are you implying?”

Akaashi levels him an even gaze, eyes following him as he saunters to the table and takes a seat.

“So, I hear that you’re his amazing first-year TA,” Kuroo starts, hooking his elbow over the backrest of the chair.

“I hear that your hair is outrageous, but I didn’t expect it to be up to this remarkable standard.”

“Hey, don’t undermine my natural beauty,” Kuroo chides, playfully, “And have you _seen_ Bokuto’s mane?”

“I’ve seen it, and I can now see why you two make such good friends,” Akaashi deadpans, eyes still directed towards the crests of Kuroo’s hair.

“Oh _wow_. Dude, haven’t you heard? They say that sarcasm is the lowest and most desperate display of wit.”

“Obviously they’ve never met me.”

Kuroo blinks, before a hearty cackle erupts out of him. “Man, who would’ve thought that you’d be a sassy little shit.”

Akaashi looks almost pleased, the start of a smirk curling the corners of his lips.

“Let me introduce myself properly,” Kuroo says after composing himself, “Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Akaashi Keiji,” Akaashi returns on autopilot.

“So, Akaashi, this is a bit of a digression, but let me create a hypothetical scenario,” Kuroo says conspiratorially, leaning forward with a serious face, “If, theoretically speaking, a student of yours wants your number, would that be crossing some sort of line? I mean, let’s pretend that I’m your student and – oh, I don’t know – we also happen to know each other outside of class and the whole shebang, like we become friends and spend our evenings talking and generally having a good time. And then we –”

Akaashi, expression unchanged, looks at him, then glances around a little, tapping his fingers against the table. When Kuroo still hasn’t continued, he sighs. “And then we…?” he incites, albeit exasperatedly.

“Oh. Yeah. I kind of lost track of what I wanted to say,” Kuroo confesses, stroking his chin and deliberating on the actual point he was trying to make.

Akaashi looks up at the ceiling, praying that he would be give enough strength to deal with whatever he’s currently dealing with.

“It’s alright. You should stop before any permanent damage is made,” Akaashi intones, and proceeds to ignore the antagonized look that Kuroo pulls, “It’s ill-advised to give out our numbers to students. Our primary form of contact is through our school emails, and personally, I don’t see any reason as to why a student might want my phone number.”

“Oh? You really don’t see any reason? And what about a relationship outside of class?”

Kuroo is grinning that indolent grin of his, but his eyes are sharp and piercing, and Akaashi reciprocates with a look of complete equanimity. He isn’t one to back down from a challenge, after all, even if Kuroo’s intentions are rather vague.

“It depends on –”

“The vending machines on this floor are under maintenance, can you believe that?! I had to go up to the second floor!” Bokuto complains as soon as he comes back into the room, cans of soda in his arms.

Kuroo drags his eyes away from Akaashi’s and grins at Bokuto. “Thanks for your hard work,” he chaffs when Bokuto passes him one of the drinks.

“Now give me back my cards!”

Kuroo does as demanded, and exchanges a few more barbs with Bokuto before he decides to leave, shooting fingers guns at the both of them on the way out.

“He’s so embarrassing!” Bokuto whines as he buries his face in his arms on the table, stomping his feet.

“Really, Bokuto-san? Coming from you?”

“Hey!” he snaps his head up, “Treat your senior with more kindness and respect! I even bought you a drink!”

“Maybe if you start acting your age, I will,” Akaashi quips, completely unsympathetic.

Bokuto puffs out his cheeks and juts his lower lip out. “Akaashi is so mean,” he mutters.

“I can live with that,” Akaashi opens up his laptop to start working on his assignment, and Bokuto, still wearing a sullen look, pulls out his own laptop to do his homework.

Bokuto hears Akaashi rummage through his things and pluck something out, but persisting in his crabby mood, he refuses to look over his laptop and see what Akaashi has procured.

There’s a quiet burst of a packet being ripped open, followed by a small nudge at his hand. He glides his eyes to the side and sees an open bag of crackers, but Akaashi’s gaze is focused on his own screen when Bokuto peers up at him.

Bokuto fails to persevere in his cantankerous disposition and allows a dopey smile to spread over his lips as he reaches for the crackers, popping them into his mouth and munching on them.

“Salty,” he comments through a mouthful.

“Do your work, Bokuto-san.”

*

Kuroo forgets that Bokuto’s student ID card is in the inner pocket of his jacket and only realizes this when he’s already in the parking lot. He considers giving it back tomorrow at practice, but decides against it when he realizes that student IDs can be pretty important, even if Bokuto’s is smeared with some unidentifiable stain and the corners are chipped off. He strides back into the Math building, spinning his car keys around his forefinger, and he’s about to announce his return when he observes the scene in the tutoring room.

Bokuto is doing his homework, occasionally twirling his pencil between his fingers as he frowns over a particularly challenging question, but then he would intermittently peek over his laptop to steal glances at Akaashi and smile at himself, before going back to his work.

Kuroo almost misses it, but he catches Akaashi glancing at Bokuto every now and then too.

  _Interesting._

A fond grin makes its way to Kuroo’s face as he turns around and decides to give Bokuto his ID the next day, all the while pondering on the chances that Oikawa might have Akaashi’s phone number.

*

“I’m finally done!” Bokuto announces as he pumps his fists in the air, before slumping forward on the desk, resting his head in his arms on top of his closed laptop, grin still etched on his face.

“Good work,” Akaashi says simply, but Bokuto could hear the smile in his words, and a bubbly feeling settles in his chest, traveling up to his face and his entire body and making him feel warm.

It feels comfortable there, in the room, with Akaashi, and Bokuto’s eyelids draw close, his mind drifting into a reticent lull.

“I like being with you. It’s comfortable,” he mumbles into his sleeves, teetering between arousal and unconsciousness, eyes still shut.

In the quietness of the room, Bokuto hears the hitch in Akaashi’s breath, and he opens his eyes, his body bolting upright as panic surges through him.

 _I did_ not _just say that out loud._   

Akaashi is looking at him, lips pressed closed and eyes widened, stunned, and Bokuto claws at the words that are clogged in his throat.

Akaashi, like always, is the one to break the awkwardness, diverting his gaze and tucking his fringe behind an ear, face returning to its usual picture of composure. “It’s 5, so we should leave,” he says, quietly, calmly.

Their walk through the hallways is unnervingly quiet, and Bokuto is still struggling to form sentences, clutching at the straps of his bag and trying not to look directly at Akaashi, whose silence amplifies Bokuto’s dread.

They reach outside and Bokuto finally speaks, “Sh-should we walk home together?”

Akaashi stares at him, thinking, and he continues in a stammer, “I- I mean, we’re heading in the same way, right?”

“I need to go back to my dorm first to get my things,” Akaashi says, nudging his chin over his shoulder to insinuate the direction that he’s headed.

“I could come with you!” Bokuto suggests, feeling a little hopeful, “Then we could go home together?”

Akaashi holds his gaze for a moment longer, before he casts his eyes towards the ground. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Dejection crashes over Bokuto, and his knees suddenly feel weak.

Akaashi pulls the scarf that’s wrapped around his neck over his jaw and up to his lower lip. “You coming with me to the dorm, I mean,” he’s still avoiding Bokuto’s eyes, “But… but I’ll see you at my grandmother’s place,” he finishes, finally looking up at Bokuto.

Bokuto swallows. “O-okay,” he says, slowly bobbing his head.

“Okay,” Akaashi repeats, voice even, “I…I’ll see you later.”

He turns to leave, and Bokuto whispers an “I’ll see you later” after he disappears out of sight.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know man,
> 
> i'll see you guys after finals haha wish me luck and i am sorry
> 
> hmu at http://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/


	3. waxing gibbous moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wish you were here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're almost done guys......

It has been one hundred and twelve days since Bokuto has had a Bad Day, and he isn’t going to break that streak.

He immediately flicks on all the light switches in his apartment and plays his favorite songs on his phone, not allowing himself to wallow in darkness or let his thoughts fester.

_I am going to be okay._

He washes his face by the sink and looks at himself in the mirror.

_I am going to be okay._

Abe’s voice rings out from below, and he takes a deep breath.

He reapplies some gel onto his hair, making sure that the horns are as impeccable as he always styles them to be, puts his varsity jacket back on, and bounds downstairs, where he is greeted by Abe on the patio.

“You must be annoyed by this old lady, always calling out to you, on a weekend at that!” Abe jokes, and Bokuto smiles, shaking his head.

“Not at all, Abe-san.”

“I’m just calling you down for dinner,” Abe pulls a big smile, “Just in time with Keiji’s arrival.”

Bokuto swivels around just as Akaashi enters the front gate, walking his bicycle onto the side of the house where his grandmother and Bokuto are.

His hair is wind-tousled, his scarf wrapped securely around his neck, a satchel slung over his shoulder. He pulls off his leather gloves and puts them in the pocket of his jacket, before parking his bicycle in the garage and coming back out to greet Abe and Bokuto.

“Good evening,” he says, cheeks a little red from the cold, his facial expression as aloof as ever.

“Keiji! You’re quite early today!”

“Yes,” he darts a quick glance in Bokuto’s direction, and Bokuto nearly flinches, “I already packed my things in advance.”

“That’s nice,” Abe reaches out and cups his cheek, “But you’re freezing, so let’s not dawdle here. Come on in. The rice should be done, I think.”

Akaashi takes off his boots and climbs up the deck, but he balks when a soft ringing tolls, turning around again in the general direction where Bokuto is standing a step below.

The bell clinks again, and Akaashi says, “Honey, welcome home.”

“Eh?!” Bokuto jounces, heat speeding up his face as he fumbles for a response. “A-akaashi! Isn’t it too early to be calling each other by –”

Something brushes past his legs, eliciting a shiver to run up his spine and a high-pitched shriek to break out of his throat.

Akaashi crouches down just as a cat, its fur dyed in honey-brown, jumps onto the veranda and eagerly runs over to where Akaashi’s hands are open, palm up, waiting to stroke its head and the underside of its chin. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Honey.”

Akaashi scoops it up and cradles it in his arms, standing up again and looking at Bokuto squarely in the face.

“I’m sorry, were you saying something, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto wants to dig himself in the yard right at that moment, but he lets out a wobbly laugh instead, face still hot enough to light up a cigarette. “Nothing! I wasn’t saying anything!”

Akaashi lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything further, and when Bokuto takes a closer look at the cat, he notices the blue collar around its neck, a bell attached at the front, and recognition hits him.

“You’re that cat!” He points at it, and it hisses, sensing the recriminatory feelings directed in its way.

“You know Honey, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, petting the cat again, effectively calming it down.

“Oh yes I do! It scratched me!” Bokuto is glowering now, curling his lips in enmity.

“She did?” Akaashi looks slightly confused. “But she’s usually very friendly.” He brushes the underside of her chin and she purrs in bliss, closing her eyes, almost proving Akaashi’s point.  
Bokuto narrows his eyes disbelievingly. “Then… I’ll try to pet her, too.” Before he can even come close, Honey snarls, fur puffing up and ears flattened, body vibrating against Akaashi’s arms and chest, and Bokuto stops his hand halfway.

“Akaashi!!” he wails, “She hates me!”

“How odd,” Akaashi says, frowning a little as he rubs Honey’s head again to wind her down.

“Keiji! Kou-chan! The food is ready!”

“Yes, we’re coming!” Akaashi calls out to Abe, who’s in the kitchen, and he tells Bokuto to go first as he sets Honey down, takes his boots inside to place them at the entryway area at the front door, and goes into one of the rooms where he takes his jacket and satchel off.

Bokuto goes through the hallway and almost enters the kitchen when he backpedals and looks to his left, at the wall. There are several framed pictures hung, and he realizes that he has never really taken a proper look at any of them.

He has told himself that doing so would be painful.

But now he’s observing each picture, with the people whose smiles are captured in instances that could be perpetually seared on canvases; temporally dated memories encapsulated on visages that could last longer than their fleeting lives.

There’s one with a young Abe and her husband, both dressed in traditional wear, picture painted in black and white; a girl at a park, with her flyaway, jet-black hair and a smile that shames the sun; the same girl, in her teens, sitting at the brown piano in the living room; the girl, now a woman, with a man whose eyes pool with fondness despite his stoic appearance, and a little boy no older than five with dark hair and eyes standing between them, each hand linked to his mother and father’s as they walk by the beach; the same boy, a few years later, smile diminutive but genuine, sitting by the patio, the sun beating down on him.

Bokuto ghosts his fingers over the glass that covers the last photograph; the same person that he knows now, but has yet to know back then, so near and familiar, and yet so distant and unreachable.  

“Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto turns around to see Akaashi, expression impassive, tilting his head almost questioningly.

Bokuto manages a smile, “Let’s eat, Akaashi!”

They enter the kitchen, Honey trailing after Akaashi, her bell chiming in little clinks.

“Oh, Honey is here?” Abe straightens up from putting some dishes on the table, “I’ll find her bowl.”

“It’s alright, Grandmother. I can do it.” Akaashi fills out her bowl with some of the cat food that’s stored in the cupboard underneath the sink and sets it near the foot of the table, where Honey eagerly pads to, giving out a satisfied meow when Akaashi pets her. He washes his hands and they start dinner.

“I’m sorry it’s not as grand as last week, “Abe tells Bokuto, “Keiji told me that preparing too much food would only be tiring for me, and it would cause you inconvenience if I enlist your help.”

“Grandmother…” Akaashi says, sounding exasperated if not slightly embarrassed.

“Ah, don’t be sorry, Abe-san!” Bokuto jumps in, “This is already really great!”

“You’re very kind to say that,” Abe smiles, genial, “So whose food do you like better? Mine or Keiji’s?”

Akaashi sets his chopsticks down to press his fingers against his temple, eyes closed and forehead crinkled with a frown, “ _Grandmother_.”

Blotches of pink dust over Bokuto’s cheeks as he bows a little, scratching his head. “Ah, I can’t really choose, because both of your cooking is great!” He doesn’t know why he’s feeling embarrassed at saying this, but with Akaashi now looking at him he feels even more so, and he blames it on the fact that he’s being observed expectantly by the two people sitting across him, and not because he’s yet again praising Akaashi when he knows that it’s brought on awkwardness when he did it before.

“Anyway! The food is really great, Abe-san!” He shouts, face still hot, as he stuffs his mouth to prove his point. “Rmnfmf mmhmf,” he tries talking as he chews, cheeks protruded.

“Oh, Kou-chan, such a sweet-talker,” Abe teases, tittering.

Bokuto doesn’t really talk directly with Akaashi throughout dinner, only addressing him if Abe brings him into topics that she drags Akaashi into in the first place, even though, like the previous week, Akaashi only responds in small hums and grunts.

After cleaning up the kitchen, they move to the living space, Honey still tailing after Akaashi.

“Keiji, can you bring out the tabletop and cable for the kotatsu?”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Akaashi makes a move to get up, “They’re in the store room, right?”

“Yes,” Abe confirms, “I’ll go get the blankets.”

Bokuto also gets up, looking at the both of them. “Do you need help?”

“You can help Grandmother, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi answers, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

Bokuto wordlessly nods, following Abe to get the quilts. They’re rather heavy since they’re very thick, but he carries them effortlessly in his arms to the front, setting them down near the low wooden table.

Akaashi returns with the removable lacquer tabletop and electrical cords, and Honey immediately claims the surface for herself once he sets it flat on the floor.

“So this is actually a kotatsu?” Bokuto queries, squatting and looking underneath the table to see the heater attached. “Nice!”

“It’s starting to get very chilly now that we’re almost halfway through November, and these old bones of mine can’t stand it,” Abe says, laughing light-heartedly. “Is it warm enough up in your place, Kou-chan?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me! I’m super tolerant of the cold! I’ve never caught a cold too!” He says proudly, thrusting a thumb on his chest.

“Is it true when they say that idiots don’t catch colds?” Akaashi asks nonchalantly as he attaches the cords, Honey moving her attention to playing with the ends of the cables instead.

“Is there such a saying – hey, wait a minute! Are you calling me an idiot?!”  

“Grandmother, we can put the blankets on now, I’m finished with the cables,” Akaashi tells Abe, not paying any heed to Bokuto’s vex.

“You’re ignoring me?!”

“Alright,” Abe replies, unfolding the blankets and giving two corners to Akaashi while she holds the other two, enabling them to spread the thick sheets over the table easily, and Akaashi places the tabletop over the quilts as the finishing touch.

“Even Abe-san isn’t defending me…” Bokuto mutters unhappily.

“Kin selection, Kou-chan,” Abe jests, touching his forearm to console him, “How’s the heater in the study room, Keiji? Do you want more blankets?”

“I’m fine,” Akaashi says, and Honey purrs, rubbing against his legs to get his attention.

“Ah, now that I’ve brought it up, a brilliant idea just struck me!” Abe grins at her grandson, “Why don’t you show Kou-chan your room, Keiji? I can make us some tea in the mean time.”

Bokuto’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets. “His room?” he squeaks simultaneously as Akaashi lets out a quiet, “Eh?”

“Now go on!” She ushers them both into the hallway as she herself goes into the kitchen. “I’ll bring the tea out once it’s done.”

A sigh slips past Akaashi’s lips, but instead of dismissing Abe’s suggestion, he turns to Bokuto with a wry smile and says, “Well, shall we?”

Bokuto nods an affirmation, but Akaashi’s already walking towards the room that’s at the end of the corridor, the light toll of Honey’s bell filling the absence of words and the space between them.

Akaashi slides the door open and walks in, waiting for Bokuto to step inside before he careens his head towards the general décor of the room, “Nothing impressive, but we do have a lot of books.”

Bokuto’s mouth falls open in amazement, eyes roaming over the bookshelves lined up against the walls, the desk and swivel chair by the window, and the red beanbag chair that sits incongruent against the other sophisticated furnishings. He also notices a futon folded neatly in one corner, where Akaashi’s bag and jacket are left.

“This is your room?” Bokuto asks as he wanders along the bookshelves, fingers trailing over the spines of the books, until he reaches the table and sees the picture standing on it.

Taking a closer look, he recognizes Abe, who’s sitting beside her husband with a very young Akaashi on his lap, the three of them smiling.

“It used to be my grandfather’s study.” The proximity of Akaashi’s voice startles Bokuto, and he looks up to see him standing right beside him, face close but eyes directed towards the picture. A faint, fond smile whisks his features into a tender expression, “But I’ve always liked it in here, and Grandmother officially dubbed it ‘Keiji’s room’ after my grandfather passed away, and I still like it here very much.”

At the uninhibited look of affection on Akaashi’s face, Bokuto stares, entranced and mesmerized, and a voice in his head tells him he’s so, _so_ screwed.

This time he catches himself staring before Akaashi does, and he swallows, hard, tearing his gaze away. “This is a really cute beanbag!” He declares, purposefully turning his body around to the other side of the room.

“Ah, my grandfather bought that lounge chair for me when I was around six,” Akaashi says, “It’s a bit battered, but…” he trails off, and Bokuto looks at his rather abstracted expression.

“But you don’t want to throw it out,” he finishes for him, smiling softly.

Akaashi gives him a look of light contemplation before it drifts to one of veiled gratitude, the subtlest curve of his lips revealing his delectation, and they both look at each other with smiles on; a quiet moment of shared felicity.

“Boys, the tea is ready!” Abe’s voice rings out, and the moment dispels, gazes averted and bodies turned away as they amble out the room.

They sit by the kotatsu, and Honey claims a spot underneath it, curling up and dozing off right next to Akaashi’s legs. Following the same pattern as the previous week, Abe bids goodnight some time after 9, and Bokuto’s at least glad that the air isn’t strung with tension, but even then, he could detect the heaviness of the things that are unsaid clouding the air.

Things that he is afraid to say.

“So, are you looking forward to the new episode of that show we watched last week?” his voice sounds like the shot of a culverin in the volatile quietness of the room, and Akaashi flits his eyes over to him then to his hands, nodding.

Bokuto is starting to squirm now, hands clenched onto the blankets of the kotatsu. “Having a kotatsu is really nice!” he hollers, and he thinks that his mouth has come up with worse fodder for conversation before.

“Yes, it is,” Akaashi agrees, looking at Bokuto with his lips parted, and Bokuto can see that he’s dithering on whether he should continue and say what he wants to say or not despite his facade of constant levelheadedness, and Bokuto can’t ignore the trepidation that’s crawling up his skin; the usually blunt Akaashi is holding back on his words, and it does not bode well.

“You…” Akaashi pauses, then shakes his head lightly, as if he’s decided not to go through with it after all, and continues, “You said that you can withstand the cold, but I suppose investing in a kotatsu would not be a bad idea. Personally, I really like it.”

Bokuto is sort of relieved at the choice of a harmless topic, and his lips twitch, almost gingerly, into a smile. “Yeah, I’d like that! Having one of my own would be great!”

“I guess the cold has finally gotten to you,” Akaashi says, placing his hands on top of each other on the table, “I notice that you’ve been wearing clothes that are more suited for the weather.”

“Well, you were the one who brought it up! You said that it was weird that I’m wearing light clothing even though it’s cold!” Bokuto says unthinkingly, defending himself, “Now that I’m covering myself up you won’t feel cold when you look at me, right?”

Instead of rolling his eyes or replying with a satirical comment, Akaashi frowns, the furrow of his brows and the press of his lips enough to tell Bokuto that he took a misstep and he doesn’t have time to figure out what he said wrong or what he should say to allay the concerning expression that Akaashi is wearing, because Akaashi, still frowning, closes his eyes for a while, and when he opens them, he looks straight at Bokuto.

“You… you know that there are boundaries to our relationship, right?” His voice is steady but subdued, and it hits Bokuto right in the guts.

He tries putting on a smile, but it hangs on his face hollowly and unconvincingly, “I don’t get what you mean?”

_Liar. You know exactly what he means._

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, weary, “You are a student, and I am part of the instructing unit.” He looks distraught as he lapses into silence again, “You understand, don’t you?”

Bokuto stares, wide-eyed and dismayed, the erratic pounding of his heart flooding his ears, his breathing increasingly ragged. He drags his eyes away from Akaashi, pointing them downwards instead.

“But… but last week you said we could be friends,” he says, hands balled into tight fists on his lap, “Are you changing your mind now?” he mocks, scoffing bitterly.

_What are you saying? You know that’s not what he means._

“Bokuto-sa –”

“You’re getting tired of me, so now you want to back out?” his voice is getting louder and more delirious now, but he can’t stop the words from falling out of his mouth, “Just like how you quit volleyball, you’re gonna quit me too?”

He still refuses to look at Akaashi.

“No, that not what I –”

“I’m leaving,” he fervidly states, foolishly determined and yet clearly disoriented, getting to his feet in an abrupt motion and turning to the doors that lead to the patio when a hand extends and grabs his wrist.

His chest is heaving with each shallow intake of air, his heart rate accelerating and beating deafeningly in his eardrums.

Still standing, he clamps his eyes shut against the loudness of his heartbeat, trying to focus on steadying his breathing.

The hold around his wrist tightens; cool, lithe fingers wrapped securely around it, and Bokuto, eyes closed, clears his mind of any irrational thoughts, drawing in a slow, deep breath.

He exhales, and opens his eyes.

There’s a squeeze around his wrist, before the hand gradually loosens its grip and travels down to his palm and uncurls the fingers, staying there.

“That’s not what I meant,” Akaashi says, tepidly, but firmly.

Bokuto sits down again, their hands still joined.

“I know,” Bokuto readjusts his fingers so their hands are clasped more comfortably around each other, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

Bokuto lifts his head and looks at Akaashi.

Akaashi’s gaze is soft, but intense in its genuineness, and Bokuto wonders why he’s also apologizing, when _he’s_ the one who acted brashly and said vitriolic things.

It makes him want to weep, and at the same time, to laugh.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi casts his eyes on their hands, his thumb sweeping over Bokuto’s knuckles. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to explain this.”

Bokuto squeezes his hand, and smiles when Akaashi looks up at him. “It’s okay. I understand.”

Akaashi smiles too, small and rueful, and they let go.

*

“Kuroo.”

“Yeah?”

“Which animals possess self-awareness?”

“I don’t know, man. Pigeons?”

“Oh. I heard that magpies do.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah. Elephants do too.”

“Cool.”

Bokuto slides down from his sitting position to recline on the gym floor, arms spread, eyes riveted on the ceiling.

Kuroo hovers over him, an eyebrow raised.

“What’s up, Bokuto?”

“Just the ceiling.”

“Good one,” Kuroo chuckles, but then his smile goes flaccid as he asks, “But seriously, what’s on your mind?”

Bokuto inhales sharply, holds it in for a few seconds, before he blurts out in a single whoosh, “So I kind of lashed out at him.”

Kuroo squints his eyes. “You don’t mean –”

Bokuto covers his face with his hands.

“Tell me the ‘him’ you’re referring to isn’t –”

A whiny, regretful noise comes out of Bokuto, and Kuroo looks down at him in disbelief.

“Bokuto. _Why_?”

The noise evolves into a drawn out groan.

Kuroo sighs and slumps against the wall. “I’m not looking at you with judgmental eyes anymore, so you can stop covering your face now.”

Bokuto removes his hands and sniffs. “I appreciate the non-judgmentalness.”

“So? You’re gonna tell me what happened or what?”

Bokuto spreads his arms out again, huffing out a breath. “It’s just… I overreacted.”

“About what?”

His teeth sink into his bottom lips, “Just – it’s,” a sigh, then, “Some stuff about him being my TA and how that’s something to keep in mind.” 

He twines his fingers together over his chest, fiddling with his thumbs nervously. “And I said some things…”

He stops wriggling his fingers and closes his eyes. “And yet…”

“And yet?” Kuroo prompts.

“He was very… nice about it,” Bokuto says, voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Kuroo doesn’t say anything for a while, but then he thwacks Bokuto’s forehead with enough force to make him yelp in pain.

“What the hell was that for?!” he rolls his eyes upwards so he could peer up at Kuroo’s face, and sees that he has an eyebrow arched, expression telling.

Bokuto pouts. “Okay, fine, I know what that was for.”

The coach calls the team to reconvene on the court, and both of them stand up, Kuroo wearing a face that says he’s mulling over something.

“Bokuto, this question is probably unnecessary, but I have to make sure. You li –”

“Don’t say it, Kuroo.”

Bokuto is a step ahead of Kuroo, and without looking back he says, “At this point, saying something like that…” he tapers off, lifting a hand aimlessly, wrangling with the right words, but drops it to his side when he knows that it’s futile.

Kuroo steps forward and pats him on the back, once, reassuring, consoling.

*

On the way home, Bokuto thinks about what Kuroo told him after practice ended. He had reminded Bokuto that his birthday party that Terushima is hosting will be on Friday, and he suggested that Bokuto invite Akaashi. When Bokuto started to protest, saying that it’s an incredibly terrible and risky idea, Kuroo told him that “Not all hope is lost. From the way he handled the reaction you had…it’s worth a shot.”

Bokuto isn’t stupid. He’s thought a lot about what transpired the previous night, and he imagines what it could have been like if, instead of stopping him and waiting for him to calm down, Akaashi had just allowed him to leave in his turbulent mood. He doesn’t have to imagine too far to know how it would have turned out.

They had watched the show until 11 at night, before Bokuto decides to excuse himself on the pretense that he was tired and he had to wake up early for practice. Akaashi didn’t say anything much either, only nodding and wishing him good night, even though Bokuto knows himself to be the worst liar and actor ever.

He reaches home and grunts over his own incompetence as he climbs the stairs, only to freeze after the first few steps.

Akaashi stops petting Honey as he turns to look at Bokuto, getting to his feet and adjusting the collar of his jacket. Honey stretches her body, then hops down the stairs, seemingly bored after Akaashi’s attention no longer belongs solely to her.

“Welcome home, Bokuto-san.”

“I – I’m home,” Bokuto responds charily.

_When was the last time someone welcomed me home?_

“What, um, what are you doing here, Akaashi? I thought you’d already left.”

Akaashi comes down a few steps, until he’s only one rung higher than Bokuto.

“I just…wanted to give you this myself. I made brownies.” Akaashi holds out a container, expression neutral, but Bokuto notices that his hand is trembling slightly, and he immediately takes the container.

“Thanks!” he says, a little too loudly, hugging the food container against his chest, and Akaashi looks at him for a while longer, obsidian eyes enigmatic. Bokuto feels his mouth go ajar as he feels himself ebb away and into the color of Akaashi’s eyes; he still can’t really figure out if they’re black or deep green, but in the sunlight, they are now painted with hues of grey, and the ardent need to know their exact color lures Bokuto closer.

Akaashi pulls his gaze away, lightly clearing his throat and taking a backward step up to a higher rung.

“Well then, I’ll take my leave,” Akaashi gives him a curt nod and starts descending the stairs, walking past Bokuto.

Bokuto twirls around on his heels and snags the scarf around Akaashi’s neck, jostling him to a stop and begetting a choked noise from the back of his throat. Gasping at the realization of what he just did, Bokuto quickly lets go and retracts his hand as Akaashi coughs a little, before he slowly, warningly, turns around, a murderous expression etching his features, a hand loosening the scarf and rubbing his throat.

“Bokuto-san,” he says, voice steely, eyes two dangerous orbs locked onto a target. “Are you trying to _strangle_ me?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!!” Bokuto frantically says, the hand that’s not holding the food container flurrying about in front of himself as some form of defense. “I just wanted to stop you from leaving! I have something to tell you!”

Still scowling, Akaashi places a hand on his hip, observing Bokuto as if he’s thinking whether he should just forgive him and let him have his say or deliver a retributive hit first before giving him the leeway.

Bokuto is clasping his hands together now in a gesture of prayer, eyes round and pleading, “Akaashi, please,” he whimpers, adding to the effect.

Akaashi narrows his eyes, but then he sighs, resigned, face returning to its customary picture of apathy, but this time, it’s tinged with a hint of peevishness.

“Well?”

Bokuto scratches the side of his head, eyes skittering to the side nervously. “Um, there’s, uh, there’s going to be a party next Friday. For Kuroo’s birthday. I was wondering if, you know, if you’d like to go.”

At Akaashi’s elevated eyebrows, Bokuto is washed over with mortification. “I’m just inviting you from one friend to another! But of course I still realize you’re also my TA!” _Damn it Kuroo, I should’ve never listened to you!_  

Akaashi looks down at his feet, tucking an ebony curl behind his ear. “I’m afraid I can’t go.”

Bokuto should have seen it coming, but still, it hits him like a sack of bricks.

“Oh,” is all he could say, his shoulders drooping.

“It’s not about you or me,” Akaashi states, quick to expel any dismayed thoughts from infiltrating Bokuto’s mind, “My father is returning from his business trip, so I’ll be coming home next Friday after my office hours.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says again, this time in a lighter tone.

Akaashi gives him a tiny, authentic smile. “Thank you for the invitation though.”

“S-sure.”

Bokuto thinks it’s unfair, how easily swayed he is by Akaashi’s smallest actions and words, and how deep he’s allowed himself to fall.

Akaashi takes his leave, and once Bokuto gets inside his apartment, he considers buying a kotatsu.

*

_Hey there~_

_Guess who_ ━☆

_I’ll give you a hint:_

_┐_ _(W_ _ヮ￣_ _)_ _┌_

 

_Okay it’s been like 20 hours and you still haven’t replied_

_It’s either you haven’t checked your phone for any texts, or you’re ignoring me, or you really suck at this guessing game_

_I’m betting on the last one because the second one would just hurt_

_It’s me. Kuroo_

 

_Akaashi are you really gonna ignore me_

 

*

“Hi there.”

Bokuto takes a moment to process the greeting, blinking and pursing his lips in thought.

“Hi?” he cocks his head to one side, “You’re. Not Akaashi. Right?”

Sugawara frowns a little, “Last time I checked, no, I’m definitely not Akaashi.”

“Okay,” Bokuto says, more to himself, “That’s good to know. I thought my eyes were failing me.” He’s rather hesitant to take a seat, trying to rack his brain to come up with a name to match the face of the person sitting at the spot where Akaashi usually is.

“Sa… no – Su…. Sugar?” he mumbles, a hand stroking his chin.

“Sugawara,” Sugawara supplies, grinning, “Sugar sounds good too, but I mostly go by Suga.”

“Damn, I was so close!” Bokuto snaps his fingers at his near miss. “But anyway, what are you doing here, Suga? Where’s Akaashi?”

“He has a meeting with his advisor, and since he can’t reschedule, I’m taking over the first half of his office hours.”

“Huh. Okay then,” Bokuto pulls a chair out to sit down, fingers immediately drumming against the edge of the table. There’s a little less than an hour until Akaashi will show up, and he hopes that Sugawara is at least pleasant company.

“Sorry I’m not Akaashi,” Sugawara says, completely unapologetic, his grin impish.

The temperature of Bokuto’s face shoots up. “I don’t – you – what’s there to appleguys for?!”

“There’s nothing to really apologize for, but I can tell that you’re disappointed."

“N-not really,” Bokuto insists, looking away and crossing his arms over his chest.

Sugawara chuckles, “I’ll take your word for it, then.” He takes a book out to read, “Just let me know if you need my help if you’re planning on doing your homework,” he informs, and Bokuto feels that Sugawara might be way too perceptive.

The hour goes by without any pain, with Bokuto cambering against the backrest and balancing himself on the chair’s hind legs while playing a game on his phone when he fails to focus on his homework after the first four questions and Sugawara reading his book quietly.

It’s not really as motivating to do his homework when he isn’t met with a crown of black curls and dark eyes and sharp features each time he glances over his laptop, or when he isn’t praised with a simple “Good job, Bokuto-san” in response to his whoops of victory after tackling a particularly challenging question.

Akaashi comes in soon enough, and Bokuto leaps to his feet, his chair clattering behind him and startling Sugawara.

Bokuto all but bounds up to him, bellowing an “Akaashi!”

“Hello, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi greets in return, his temperate demeanor a stark contrast with Bokuto’s excitable one. He walks over to Sugawara and puts his things on the table, and Bokuto diligently tails after him. “Thanks for filling in for me, Sugawara-san.”

“No problem,” Sugawara smiles, slipping his sweater and bag on, ready to take his leave. “I’ll see you tonight at the party, Akaashi.”

“Ah, I’m not going,” Akaashi says, and this makes Sugawara pause in the doorway.

“You’re not?” At Akaashi’s affirmative nod, his lips tug downwards a little. “Aw, that’s too bad. Does Oikawa know?”

“How could he not,” Akaashi grimaces, “He repeatedly asked me about it even though I’ve said ‘no’ just as many times.”

Sugawara laughs at this. “That’s Oikawa for you. Well, I’ll see next week in class, Akaashi!” he looks over at Bokuto, “Goodbye to you, as well.”

Bokuto waves, thinking of how Sugawara is such a peppy guy, and a voice in his head, which sounds suspiciously like Kuroo, counters that thought with a _“Have you_ seen _yourself?”_

With a shake of his head, other unnecessary thoughts are dispersed and he becomes invigorated again when he says, “Akaashi, I got halfway through my homework without any mistakes!”

Akaashi smiles, briefly, “Nice work, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto beams, happiness swelling in his chest.

They settle down at the table, and Bokuto slouches forward, bright-eyed, happy to be with Akaashi, despite the strife they went through the preceding week – no, _because_ of the strife they went through, and it is precisely because of what happened that Bokuto realizes he needs to keep his lines in check; be patient, if he truly cherishes whatever tie he shares with Akaashi.

“Bokuto-san, I was wondering if…”

Bokuto leans forward even further, expectant.

Akaashi’s lips are still parted, but he seems to have second thoughts. “…it’s nothing,” he says, “Now that I think about it, it’s not something worth mentioning.”

“Eh, don’t leave me hanging!! You’ve already piqued my interest!” Bokuto whines, stretching his body out and practically climbing over the table.

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi presses the tip of his index finger on Bokuto’s forehead, “Sit down properly.”

Bokuto pouts, but settles back in his seat, the chair rattling noisily.

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“If you say so…” Bokuto gives in, reluctantly.

A miniscule smile plays at Akaashi’s lips; the exasperated but warm kind of smile. “Bokuto-san, you should finish the rest of your homework if you’re going to the party later,” he reminds.

“Oh, right! I almost forgot!” Bokuto continues from where he left off, and as he scribbles down a few equations he asks, “By the way, is the party that Suga mentioned the same one that I’ll be going to?”

“Yes,” Akaashi says, also looking down at his own work.

“Oikawa invited you?”

“He invited all the TAs.”

The lead of Bokuto’s pencil hovers over the numbers.

_So it really wasn’t to avoid me or anything like that._

He sighs a quiet breath of relief, and is about to properly focus on solving the problem when Akaashi says, “I’m really sorry that I can’t go.”

Bokuto snaps his head up and sees that Akaashi’s features hold a hint of contriteness.

“No no, don’t be!” Bokuto says, starting to feel guilty at the realization of how he’s subconsciously made it all about himself when it never really is. “You should go home and see your father. You don’t have to feel bad or anything!”

Akaashi holds his gaze for a while longer, the pull at the corners of his lips making Bokuto think, not for the first time, that Akaashi’s half-smiles are enchanting enough to flay his heart open.

“Have fun at the party, but remember to take care of yourself,” Akaashi says, before his smile disintegrates and he returns to his books.

“Yeah,” Bokuto’s reply comes out a little breathless, and he harrumphs to have a change of gear conversation-wise. “I was actually wondering; why are you staying at the dorms? I remember Abe-san telling me that her daughter – ” he points his pencil at Akaashi, “ – your mom, if I’m not being clear –” and Akaashi just rolls his eyes, “ – lives not too far away, and that would mean that your family lives kinda close to campus.”  

“Well, I had originally planned on living on the apartment at my grandmother’s place, but since _someone else_ is living there, I had to find an alternative,” Akaashi answers matter-of-factly.

Bokuto’s jaw drops, “Oh my gosh, Akaashi! I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was stealing your place! If I had known –”

“I’m joking, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi interrupts, straight-faced.

Bokuto blinks, then laughs, shaking his head. “You know, you should really come with a warning sign.”

“Living on campus is more practical, in terms of proximity, at least.” Akaashi thumbs a page of his book, pausing for a while. “There is… also the fact that I receive a scholarship from the department, and one of the requirements is that I need to live in the university-affiliated accommodations for at least one year.”

“ _Wow,_ that’s awesome!” Bokuto exclaims, “You’re really amazing, Akaashi!”

There is an allusion of surprise in Akaashi’s face, but he remains unflappable, even though the tips of his ears have gone pink. “Flattery will get you no where, Bokuto-san,” he remarks.

“But you really are amazing!” Bokuto asseverates, “You’re smart and mature, and it’s great that you’re able to live away from your family.” His voice suddenly sinks a few notches lower as he evades his eyes from Akaashi’s, “But living with your family would be really nice too.”

Silence enshrouds them, and Bokuto thinks about quiet apartments and warm ‘welcome home’s and home-cooked meals and how _lonely_ it gets at night.  

The touch of cool fingers against his knuckles carries him out of his reverie, and he moves his eyes to the hand on top of his.

It is an infinitesimal gesture; the contact of finger pads against the skin on his hand, but it spreads like water ripples through his entire body, cool and tender and comforting, and he never wants Akaashi to let go.

*

“Yo, Bokuto! And the main man of the party, Kuroo!”

“Hey, Terushima,” Kuroo says, grinning. “Nice job securing this place. It’s a little far, but really worth it.”

“Thanks, man. Bobata’s old man isn’t around so he offered his place.” Terushima calls some of the seniors over, and they bring out a cake.

“Oho, we’re going straight to the cake? Are you guys that eager to pop out the booze?” Kuroo jeers.

“Come on, we all know you’re excited too to be turning 20. Finally able to drink without worrying ‘bout getting caught and shit,” one of the seniors says, nudging Kuroo in the ribs.

“Can’t argue with you on that.”

The whole bunch of them gather around and rowdily sing a very unrefined cover of the traditional birthday song, and soon enough cans of beer are passed around, loud chatter and clinks of cans and boisterous laughter, accompanied by upbeat music, filling the house.

“There’s soda and juice too, just help yourselves to whatever’s on the table, ‘kay. Happy birthday, Kuroo, and don’t forget that we still have practice tomorrow,” the captain of the volleyball team says before he leaves.

“Man, what a killjoy,” Kuroo scoffs, a can of unopened beer in his hand. He turns to Kenma, who has shrunk in on himself, sticking close to Kuroo, “Hey, you okay?”

Kenma nods, “I don’t mind the music, but there’s too many people.”

“Yeah, the guys must’ve invited people from their departments or something,” Kuroo chuckles, wrapping an arm around Kenma’s waist as if to protect him from the horde of people. “Bokuto, wanna have something to eat?”

“Nah, I’m good, I’ll just get some punch. Kenma, you want some?”

Kenma nods again, “Thanks, Koutarou.”

Bokuto gets the drinks, and they try to find a spot in the house where there aren’t too many people, finally discovering doors that lead to the veranda, obscured behind a few partitions.

They sit by the patio, not minding the chilly night air, taking sips of their drinks and making small talk, just like any of their other hang-out sessions, Kenma pulling out his PSP not soon after.

“This is really good,” Bokuto comments after downing his whole cup, “I’m gonna get some more. You guys want anything?”

Kuroo and Kenma shake their heads, and Bokuto goes back inside, worming his way through the crowd and saying hi to the teammates that he passes by, engaging in simple banters here and there.

“Oh, hi there!”

Bokuto turns to the voice and finds Sugawara sitting by the staircase with Sawamura, and he walks up to them, wearing a grin that matches Suga’s.

“You’re from earlier today,” Sugawara says, “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Bokuto,” he sticks a hand out and they shake hands. “You know each other?” he darts a glance between Sugawara and Sawamura.

“We just met, actually,” Sugawara’s grin grows broader, “What about you two?”

“Volleyball,” Bokuto and Sawamura say in unison, shrugging, and Sugawara laughs.

“Should’ve known.” Sugawara brings his cup close to his mouth, looking at Bokuto over the rim with mischievous eyes, “It really is too bad that Akaashi couldn’t make it.”

Bokuto almost drops his drink as Sawamura asks, “Who?”

“No one!!” Bokuto shouts, face ruddy. “I’ll bid goodnight to you two!” he plods away, taking huge gulps of his drink and returning to the table for a refill. He stands by the table for a while to allow his face to cool down, before he returns to the patio, only to find nobody there.

“Hm, where did they run off to?” he sits down and checks his phone, typing a message to Kuroo asking where he and Kenma are.

He sniffs, rubbing his nose, as he starts to feel a bit woozy. He blinks hard and shakes his head, taking another sip. He exhales and notices white puffs of air sliding out of his mouth.

_Must mean it’s pretty cold, huh._

He tips his head upwards and huffs a few more times, eyes trailing the vapor until it completely vanishes, and his eyes catch the moon hanging in the black canvas of the sky. The stars scattered around it tell Bokuto that they’re rather far out into the suburbs to be able to see the stars so clearly.

“Wow,” he says to himself, studying the almost-round shape of the waxing gibbous moon.

_Was it a full moon when Akaashi and I shook hands during our re-introduction?_

He frowns. _No, it wasn’t, you forgetful bloke. It was a half-moon!_

His frown cuts deeper at the internal conversation he just had with himself.

The glow of the moon reminds him of the first time he unearthed an unsolved puzzle: the color of Akaashi’s eyes.

_I need to solve that problem! I won’t rest until I do!_

He snorts. _Why are you so fired up about someone’s eye color? Why not channel that determination for something more substantial, like homework?_

He surmises that the other side that’s partaking in his inner conversation is a pretty rude asshole.

He exhales through his mouth again to see the breath vapor, and paws at one of the buttons on his varsity jacket.

_It really is cold._

He wonders if Akaashi is keeping himself warm enough. From what Bokuto has felt, his hands are always cool, and he hopes they’re not going to freeze when the temperature drops.

He feels a strange, tingly buzz vibrating inside of him and coursing through his veins, but it’s not a painful sensation; rather, an oddly pleasant one.

He takes a swig of his drink and decides to finish the whole cup, throwing his head back and letting the empty plastic cup fall down beside him with a clunk.

He tries to gauge the time, mentally recalibrating the hours, and concludes that it should be around 10 or 11, and he thinks about that stupid reality TV show he’s watched with Akaashi the past couple of weeks.

He wonders what Akaashi’s parents are like, and imagines the sort of people they are from the pictures he’s seen and the snippets of information he’s heard from Abe.

_I really need to find a way to wheedle Akaashi into playing the piano for me. One day, buddy, one day._

He falls backward and lies down on the deck, arms spread wide. He blinks, forcefully, because his eyelids are starting to feel heavy. He raises a hand and extends it, fingers spread, the light of the moon an incandescent, white backdrop.

A voice rings in his ear, smooth, calm, familiar.

_Bokuto-san._

He encloses his fingers inward to his palm and drops his hand to his chest, succumbing to the lassitude and fluttering his eyes shut, one thought drifting through his mind.

_I wish you were here._

*

“Welcome home.”

“I’m home. Sorry I’m late, Keiji. The meeting ran longer than scheduled, and we had to reserve new seats for the bullet train.”

“It’s alright, Father.”

His father shrugs off his coat and loosens his tie, his briefcase and luggage left near the staircase. “And I promised your mother that I would cook something nice for you, too,” he grumbles quietly, a frown lightly touching his forehead.

Akaashi tilts his head to the side a little. “We could order something.”

His father’s smile is small and wry. “Don’t tell your mother.”

Akaashi’s smile mirrors his, “She’ll never know.”

His father walks by him, patting him once, firmly, on the shoulder. “Two weeks is quite a long time.”

“Glad to have your accomplice back home, Father?”

They share a real smile, before Akaashi calls the pizza place while his father unpacks some of the sweets he’s brought back from the trip.

They don’t talk as much as when his mother is around, but Akaashi is absolutely fine with it; he shares too much of his father’s personality, and he’s comfortable with the dynamic that they have.

“Did your mother call?”

“Yes, she called yesterday.”

“Alright, don’t forget to call her again sometime this weekend.”

The pizza arrives and they eat in silence, and once they clean up, they settle down on the couch in the living room, his father recounting a few things that he saw while he was in Kyoto as the television plays a few advertisements before the news starts.

Tired from the trip, his father retreats upstairs around 10 o’clock, and Akaashi is left alone in the living room, leaning against the armrest, his legs pressed against his chest, fingers drumming on his knees.

It’s not the first time he’s left alone at home with just his father, but the empty space left by his mother is as palpable as he initially remembers it to be. She is, after all, the warm, sunny figure among his and his father’s dreary dispositions.

Drowsiness dusts over him, and he reminds himself to take a bath and do some reading if he intends to sleep earlier than usual that night.

That’s what he always thinks, but he’s never really been able to fall asleep before 1 or 2 am, his sleeping habits deteriorating even further after he’s started college.

He forgoes the show that he usually watches with his mother and heads upstairs.

Warm and content from his bath, he plugs in his earphones, puts on some hairclips to keep his bangs out of his eyes, and does some of his assigned readings, getting a start on the write-ups as well. It’s almost midnight when he checks the time on his phone, and checking his phone reminds him of one thing: Kuroo has somehow attained his number (Akaashi’s conjecture is that he must have hacked Oikawa’s phone and searched for his contact information, because that would be easier than to ask Oikawa for it straight-out), and he has been thinking of how to reply to his barrage of texts for almost a week now.

Why does Kuroo have and want his number? Why is he so insistent on being friends? And the most important question that runs through Akaashi’s mind: does Bokuto have his number too?

Akaashi knows it’s asinine to think too deeply about these things, but alas, he is a thinker who ruminates over too many things, even seemingly irrelevant matters.

_I wonder if Bokuto-san is still at the party._

He stares emptily at the blank screen of the phone clutched in his hand.

He should not be thinking about Bokuto.

He has saved Kuroo’s number and replied only once, a succinct _“What do you want, Kuroo-san,”_ and the rest of the text messages that roll in are not heeded, because they mostly consist of attempts at small talk and the occasional teasing and provocation.

Bokuto said that the party is hold in celebration of Kuroo’s birthday, and Akaashi wonders if sending a simple “Happy birthday” would hurt.

He pushes his chair with the back of his knees and moves to the bed, where he chucks his phone onto the pillow as he himself sits on the floor, his back against the bed, sighing. He turns his hands so the palms are facing upwards, and he studies the receding callouses that had originally formed because of the years spent tossing and serving volleyballs.

_I wonder what it would have been like if I met Bokuto-san in high school, when I still played volleyball._

He turns his hands downwards and rests them on his lap.

He really should not be thinking about Bokuto.

*

Akaashi is roused awake by the indefatigable buzzing of his phone, and he takes a moment to collect his thoughts, groggily registering the fact that he had fallen asleep sitting on the floor, before he crawls onto the bed and reaches for the phone on his pillow.

“Hello,” he says, annoyed at the grittiness of his sleepy voice.

 _“Thank god you picked up, Akaashi,”_ the voice at the other end of the line says, relief evident in their words.

Akaashi frowns and pulls his phone away from his ear, squinting at the caller ID.

“Kuroo-san,” he glances at the clock on the wall, “It’s 2 a.m.” He doesn’t even have the energy to sound chastising.

_“I know, I’m sorry, but I really need your help right now, Akaashi.”_

Akaashi’s thought processes become more lucid when he notices just how addled the supposedly laid-back Kuroo sounds, and he asks, “What’s wrong?”

There’s a crackle of static as Kuroo sighs.

_“It’s Bokuto.”_

*

Akaashi drives his father’s car to the designated place using the navigator on his phone and arrives after roughly half an hour, getting out of the vehicle and walking through the open gates of a rather huge house, Kuroo waiting for him outside the front door. He’s carrying someone on his back, and he’s also struggling to support an evidently inebriated Bokuto who’s laughing into his ear.

“Oh my god, Akaashi. Please help,” Kuroo says just as Bokuto pushes himself off his friend, looking at Akaashi with unfocused eyes.

“’Kaashi?” he asks, nonplussed.

“Yes, Bokuto-san, it’s me,” Akaashi answers, a bit warily.

“Whaaat? Why da ‘eck are you ‘ere.” Bokuto staggers towards him and trips over his own foot, and Akaashi quickly steps forward, catching him.

With a sigh, Akaashi drapes Bokuto’s arm over his shoulder and slips his arm around Bokuto’s waist to support him. “Bokuto-san, pull yourself together,” he says, even though he knows it’s pointless.

“I think he’s gonna be okay,” Kuroo looks extremely worried, almost anxious, “I mean, he’s not supposed to drink, and, oh god, I can’t believe they punched the spike.”

Akaashi shoots him a dubious look.

“No, what I meant to say was, someone spiked the punch,” Kuroo corrects himself, “And now even Kenma is drunk.”

He turns his head to the side, to the face that’s buried in the crook of his neck, arms hanging over his chest, thighs held by both his arms.

Kuroo returns his gaze back to Akaashi, expression far too somber for someone who’s been drinking, “I don’t want to leave these two unattended, and I wanted to send Bokuto home, but I’m probably not in the best state to drive. Plus, as you might’ve noticed, I already have my hands full.”

Akaashi looks at Bokuto, who’s making spit bubbles and giggling to himself when they burst.

He doesn’t know how many times a sigh has left his mouth that night, but he sighs again anyway. “It’s alright, Kuroo-san. I’ll drive him home.”

“Thanks, man. I really appreciate it. I feel really bad for leaving him out of my sight.”

The sleeping figure behind him shifts a little, groaning quietly, and Kuroo whispers a “Sorry for being loud, Kenma.”

He throws Akaashi a grin, “When we’re all more sober, I’ll introduce you to Kenma. Something tells me you two will get along.”

“Did’ja see that ‘Kaashi?! I blew a big one!”

Akaashi and Kuroo cringe at the booming volume that is Bokuto’s voice. “Yes yes, it was impressive,” Akaashi says blandly, then to Kuroo, “I’ll look forward to that, but in the mean time, please take care of yourselves.”

“Roger,” Kuroo drawls.

Akaashi allows a little smile to scrawl over his lips. “Happy birthday, Kuroo-san.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen, but then his features go lax as he grins, “Thanks, Akaashi.”

Akaashi, with a bit of a tussle, manages to get Bokuto in the backseat, and he drives back towards the city, heading for his grandmother’s place. Throughout the 30-minute journey, he hears Bokuto mumble unintelligibly, and when they arrive at their destination, Akaashi opens the rear door and asks, “Bokuto-san, where are your keys?”

Bokuto is lying on his side, before he sits up, with great difficulty, and slurs an answer, “Pocket.”

“Which pocket?” Akaashi tentatively pats around the front pockets of Bokuto’s jeans, eyebrows knitted when he doesn’t find any keys, only a phone.

Bokuto pinches the fabric of his shirt, frowning deeply as he tries to form a coherent sentence. “The thing you wear when ‘s cold…”

“Your jacket?” Akaashi gives him a look of incredulity, “But you’re not wearing one.”

“’Course not, silly!” Bokuto flashes him a daft smile, bopping his nose, “’Cause I took it off!”

Akaashi winces at the looming headache throbbing at the back of his skull. He screws his eyes shut for a while, before he opens them and painstakingly thinks of what action to take. He could drive back to the party to retrieve Bokuto’s jacket and key, but that would take too long, and he really wants to go back o sleep. He figures he could wake his grandmother up and ask her to unlock Bokuto’s door with the spare keys, but he knows that it wouldn’t be too prudent or appropriate to wake an old lady up at 3 in the morning to help an intoxicated young man get into his own house.

He turns to look at Bokuto, who has started singing gibberish lyrics to some sort of song, and he knows that there’s only one thing that he can do.

He shuts the rear door and gets behind the wheel, strapping on the seat belt with a morose expression, and drives them back to his house.

*

He helps Bokuto out of the car and into the house, all the while fervently praying that his father will not wake up from all the noise, even though he tries his best to be as stealthy as he could with the weight of a grown man hanging off of him. Said grown man has to be shushed repeatedly as they stumble into the living room, successfully maneuvering their way without knocking into anything. Akaashi manages to lug Bokuto to the guest bedroom, where he dumps Bokuto onto the mattress before he himself plops down, tired and trying to catch his breath. For a moment he just lays there, the lights not turned on, and he thinks what a night it has been.

“’Kaashi…” a hand gropes around his face, and he sighs, getting off the bed and flicking the lights on.

Bokuto clamps his eyes shut and hisses at the assault to his vision. Akaashi tramps to the kitchen and fills a glass with water, bringing it back to Bokuto who’s gone back to lying spread-eagle on the bed.

“’Kaashi! I’m so glad you came back!” He sits up, grinning, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol.

“Here, Bokuto-san, drink this.”

Akaashi catches the glass when Bokuto lets it slip out of his hand after drinking the whole thing, and goes to refill it. He sets the glass on the bedside table and takes a seat next to Bokuto, whose eyes never leave him.

“Bokuto-san, you should lie down and go to sleep,” he says, stifling a yawn of his own.

“Don’t wanna,” Bokuto whines, but he doesn’t give a fight when Akaashi gently pushes him onto the mattress. “’ve been thinkin’…‘Kaashi, hear me out.”

“What is it, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi indulges.

“’Kaa-shi,” Bokuto hiccups, “’Kaashi…”

“Yes, Bokuto-san, I’m right here, you don’t need to say my name so many times,” Akaashi says, his voice a susurration, hand still holding Bokuto’s forearm.

“Come closer,” Bokuto mumbles, tugging on the end of his sleeve, and Akaashi wants to demur, a reprimand ready on his tongue, but at Bokuto’s heavy-lidded eyes and dwindling consciousness, he leans in closer.

“Akaashi…” Bokuto's eyes flicker wider, pupils blown, as he murmurs, “They really _are_ green.”

Akaashi blinks. _Green?_  

Then he realizes that Bokuto has fallen asleep, signaled by a chorus of snores.

Akaashi pulls the blanket and comforter over his legs and up to his chest, snorting when he sees drool dribbling down Bokuto’s jaw.

_How charming._

He kneels down by the bed, tucking Bokuto’s arms under the blanket, and he stares at the sleeping face for longer than necessary.

His fingers twitch.

He hovers his hand over to Bokuto’s face, fingers ghosting along his eyebrows, down to his nose, over to his cheekbones, and then to his mouth. Akaashi follows the contours of his lips, his feather-like touches dancing above the features, careful not to make contact.

“’Kaashi…” he hears, and he pulls his hand back just as his fingers graze Bokuto’s upper lip. He stands up, switches the lights off, and closes the door behind him with a soft click.

He sags against the door, head canted upwards.

_Boundaries, Keiji. Boundaries._

*

Akaashi wakes up the next morning feeling ready to murder someone.

Kuroo, whom Bokuto had called earlier because he was panicking when he woke up and realized that he’s in an unrecognizable place, is now calling Akaashi to bring him the news of a terror-stricken Bokuto who’s convinced that he’s been kidnapped and held captive in a really nice bedroom with a really comfy bed.

Akaashi doesn’t bother to give a full account of what happened, cutting the call after he tersely tells Kuroo to inform Bokuto that he’ll be coming down shortly.

He opens his bedroom door the same time his father comes out of the master bedroom, and his father pauses at the doorway, giving him an odd look.

“Good morning, Keiji.”

“Good morning, Father.”

The look his father is wearing changes into one of deliberation.

Akaashi already knows what he’s thinking about, but he asks anyway, biting back a sigh, “What’s on your mind, Father?”

“I’m just pondering on the happenstance of a miracle befalling our household. My son is actually awake at 8 on a Saturday morning, and this hasn’t happened ever since he started college.”

Akaashi rolls his eyes, and his father huffs a quiet laughter, “But really, what woke you up?”

Akaashi gulps, but maintains his mask of composure. “I just thought of making you breakfast.”

“Honestly Keiji, I’m perfectly capable of making my own toast and coffee,” his father makes a move towards the stairs, “Well, come on then, let’s have breakfast.”

Akaashi whips his phone out and taps a quick text to Kuroo, telling him to relay to Bokuto that there will be a slight delay, and that it is imperative for him to stay put and not make any noise.

On Saturdays his father goes out to tend to some errands after breakfast, and Akaashi hopes that Bokuto will hold out just for another twenty minutes or so as he prepares coffee and toasts for his father and himself. His father is sharp, but he doesn’t really like to probe into where he knows his son would feel uncomfortable, and Akaashi is holding onto the belief that even if his father notices anything suspicious, he would not bring it up.

True enough, his father leaves the house after less than an hour, and after giving his son one last trenchant stare.

Akaashi brings some toast and coffee into the guest bedroom, and finds Bokuto sitting on the bed against the wall, knees pressed against his chest, expression miserable.

“Akaashi!” His face immediately lights up and he tries to jump out of the bed, but instantly regrets it when a wave of dizziness hits him and he wobbles back to sit on the bed, head in his hands.

“It’s like a rock is sitting on top of my head,” he groans.

Akaashi is still standing by the door, plate and mug in his hands.

Bokuto looks up at him, cocking his head to the side, “Akaashi? What’s wrong?”

“…who are you?”

“Wha – ” a tuft of his hair falls over the ridge of his nose and he goes cross-eyed staring at it. Bokuto literally screeches as he scuttles to pull the blanket over his head, “Don’t look at me!”

Eyes riveted on Bokuto, Akaashi puts the plate and mug down on the dresser, padding slowly towards the bed. “Bokuto-san, your hair…”

“No, don’t say it!” Bokuto yanks the blanket down to his forehead and almost to his eyes, trying to hide his hairline and his bangs, “No one is supposed to see me like this! My owl persona is gonna be ruined!”

Akaashi stands in front of the bed, staring at the Bokuto-cocoon, and _laughs_. Not a snicker or a suppressed laugh concealed behind a hand, but an unbridled, open-mouthed laughter, and Bokuto forgets about his hair, the blanket slipping out of his hands and falling off his shoulders, a gleam in his softening eyes as he becomes completely enamored, by the sight, by the sound.

The laughter subsides, and Akaashi climbs onto the bed, sitting beside Bokuto, his smile still plenary and resplendent. He reaches a hand out towards Bokuto’s face, hesitating for a fleeting moment, before he touches the heap of messy black and white strands that fall over Bokuto’s eyes, brushing them away with supple fingers. Their eyes meet, and Bokuto could do nothing but stare into Akaashi’s dark eyes, glimmering with flecks of emerald and grey.

“Is it that bad that I get to see you in your natural state?” Akaashi asks, tone teasing, fingers twirling around the locks.

Bokuto’s face is dyed in scarlet, his heart stuttering, and his reply comes out a little choked, “N-no, it’s not that bad, I guess.”

Akaashi’s smile is coy now, and he smoothens Bokuto’s fringe with one last sweep of his fingers, before he backs away.

“I’ll get you some more water. Do you want to come out to the kitchen for breakfast?”

Bokuto swallows, bobbing his head. “Yes, please.”

They move to the kitchen, and Akaashi hands him a glass of water. “How do you feel?”

Bokuto drinks half of it, taking a seat on the stool by the counter and angling his face away as he says, “I – I don’t feel that bad, and I guess I owe you a huge thanks. And, um, I guess you brought me here because I left my keys?” He laughs feebly.

Akaashi also takes a seat, propping an elbow on the counter and resting his chin over his knuckles, face impassive. “Tell me, how much of last night do you remember?”

Bokuto still tries to dodge his eyes, “Bits and pieces of it. I remember drinking some punch, and then everything went kinda dark and fuzzy. I also remember Kuroo dragging me out of the house when he found me dancing on the table… This morning, when I called him, he said that he asked you to bring me home.”

“You’re… not supposed to drink, are you?” Akaashi asks, quietly, carefully.

Bokuto shakes his head weakly. “No, I’m not.”

The silence stretches out, but then Akaashi pushes the plate of toast in front him. “Eat. I’ll make you something else too.”

Bokuto wonders what he has done to receive such generosity and kindness, watching as Akaashi makes him omelet, and he wonders why all of this feels so peaceful, even though he should be feeling out of place and hung-over.

He’s munching on his toast thoughtfully when Akaashi asks, “Are you going to volleyball practice later?”

Bokuto accidentally bites on his tongue and yelps, “Ah, damn! I completely forgot about that.”

“Kuroo-san texted me that only a couple of people are there, and that the coach is livid, so he said that you and the rest of your teammates better be there before the second half of practice,” Akaashi says monotonously, setting a plate of omelet in front of him.

“Crap, I better chew faster then!” Bokuto finishes the toast and chomps a large piece of the omelet, stabbing it with a fork, “By the way,” he says through a mouthful, “Kuroo has your number? Even though I don’t?”

Akaashi drops the mug that he’s washing by the sink.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kuroo is the type of person who doesn't get hang-overs
> 
> merry (early) christmas, guys! if all goes well, i'll post the last chapter around new year's! you guys rock!


	4. like stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We make quite a team, Bokuto-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize for this behemoth of a chapter....

A few things that Bokuto has learned in the span of a single day:

  1. He re-confirms the fact that he does not possess enough self-control because he has stared at Akaashi’s ass half the time when he’s eating breakfast and spent the other half trying to make sure that his ogling isn’t obvious, although he suspects that he might have failed to do that when Akaashi asks him, with a wry smile, if it would be better if he changes his sweatpants into something less distracting.
  2. Akaashi routinely spends a chunk of his (late) Saturday mornings making sweets, some of which he’ll bring over to his grandmother’s place on the way back to campus, but that day he won’t make anything because his father had brought home a lot of yatsuhashi from Kyoto and he is to bring some of those over instead, and Bokuto, red-faced, admits that this is a bit disappointing because he had hoped to eat Akaashi’s sweets again that week.
  3. To alleviate Bokuto’s disappointment and mortification at the admission, Akaashi generously asks him if he has any particular requests so that he could make them next week, and Bokuto learns that he would seriously be willing to eat anything as long as it’s the product of Akaashi’s handwork, but he doesn’t tell Akaashi that, and just mumbles “Chocolate-chip cookies would be nice.”
  4. Akaashi’s house really isn’t far from the university, and he discovers this as he dashes out of the house, shoving the last piece of his omelet into his mouth, when Akaashi reminds him of the time and that his father would be back soon.
  5. He actually has the ability to run 50 laps around the court, but the danger of vomiting the entire content of his stomach prevents him from being overly smug or boasting about it, though seeing his other teammates bend over and throw up and suffer terrible hang-overs, which, as to quote Oikawa, “hurts like a bitch”, makes him feel slightly better, but their coach’s ire and grueling set of “reformative training” causes him to reevaluate his life altogether.  
  6. Creating this mental list has made him realize that he thinks a lot about Akaashi, which is the least surprising out of all the other items.



“So, he brought you back to his house?”

Bokuto glares at Kuroo, twisting his lips in aversion at the leer his friend has on his face. “Don’t make that face, it’s really gross.”

Kuroo gives half a shrug, the leer only growing wider. “I wouldn’t be making it if you would just tell me the juicy details of your love life.”

“Respect my privacy, bro.”

“When I told you the same thing a couple of years ago you started crying, saying that it’s a violation of our code,” Kuroo counters pointedly.

Bokuto taps his chin. “You make a very compelling argument.”

He hefts his bag over one shoulder and they leave the changing room, “But seriously, nothing happened.” He kicks a pebble off the trail they’re walking on, “I’ve decided to keep myself in check at all times. I mean, I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable and push him away, y’know?”

Kuroo looks at Bokuto out of the corner of his eye, at his serious and determined expression, and then he chuckles.

“What are you laughing about?”

“Nothing. I’m just happy for you.”

“What?”

“I’m also kind of proud.”

“You lost me. Seriously, what are you talking about?”

Kuroo sighs, longingly, “If only that were the case. If only I could really lose you and never have you returned to me.”

He cackles as he dodges Bokuto’s punch, but then they both groan in regret and pain at the ache of their sore muscles.

*

The days pile on and the last of the rustic brown leaves fall off the trees in a graceful dance, the autumn wind torrid and crisp, and Bokuto is glad it’s already Friday again as he whistles into room 125 of the Math building. The tune stops altogether when he steps in and sees Akaashi’s hunched up posture, his head in his arms, and Bokuto realizes he’s asleep when he comes closer. He tiptoes the last steps to his usual seat across Akaashi, and he thinks that since it’s a few minutes before 3, waking Akaashi up would be rather discourteous.

Akaashi’s shoulders rise and fall in time with his quiet breathing, and, with his eyes closed, the light from the window casts shadows of his eyelashes against his alabaster cheeks, and Bokuto rests his chin on top of his folded arms, his smile irrepressible as he looks at the sleeping figure in front of him. It’s probably one of the rare times where Akaashi is letting his guard down, letting himself appear human, and Bokuto is content if they were to just stay like that for the rest of the evening.

A dull ring chimes from the phone on top of the table, and Akaashi stirs just as Bokuto quickly straightens up and thinks if he should pretend that he just came in and is so totally not staring at a sleeping Akaashi.

Akaashi gropes around for his phone and turns off the alarm, opening his eyes and blinking away the sleep, his sweater a bit rumpled.

“Oh. Bokuto-san.” His voice is a bit hoarse, scraggy from the sleep, and he frowns a little, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Ah, I didn’t think it was nice to disturb you,” Bokuto laughs, “Did you have a nice nap?”

“Yes, it was rather nice,” Akaashi says, almost distractedly, as he lets out a yawn, still bleary-eyed, and Bokuto can’t help but think _how cute._

He takes a proper look at Akaashi and notices the bags under his eyes, and he immediately gets concerned. “Is… is everything okay?” He asks, careful so as to not sound condescending, “I’ve never seen you sleep here, and uh, yeah.”

Akaashi looks at him with slightly widened eyes, before he casts his gaze downwards, tucking a tress of his obsidian hair behind an ear.

Bokuto realizes that it’s a habit; he does it when he’s thinking under pressure, or when he’s feeling self-conscious.

“Everything is alright,” Akaashi answers, before he proceeds to take out some of his books from his bag, and Bokuto takes it that he should leave it at that.

Bokuto decides that it’s _very_ hard to just leave it at that when, from his covert glances and inconspicuous peeks over his laptop, he sees that Akaashi has a hand in the shock of his messy dark hair, elbow propped on the table, the other hand holding an unmoving pencil, eyes vacant.

He coughs a little, clearing his throat, and when this elicits not even the smallest reaction from Akaashi, he harrumphs again, this time a more violent, scratchy noise to make it obvious, and still it does nothing to attract Akaashi’s attention.

To avoid the risk of making his throat sore, Bokuto opts to flip his laptop screen down and push the device aside, leaning forward and trying to peer up into Akaashi’s face.

“Akaashi?” he coos, tilting his head, his torso sliding up across the table.

Akaashi’s eyes flit over to Bokuto’s round ones, staring up at him, and he whips his head up and away from Bokuto, backing away a little.

“Bokuto-san,” he says, reproving, “What are you doing.”

Bokuto settles back on his chair, “Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention.”

“You could have just called my name,” Akaashi sighs, raking a hand through his hair.

“I did,” Bokuto protests, “But you didn’t hear me.”

Bokuto sees Akaashi’s hand twitch, even though his face doesn’t say anything.

“I see,” he pulls the hand away from his head and places it on the table, and it becomes obvious that it’s shaking, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling like myself today.” He moves his hands again, letting them fall in his lap, where Bokuto can’t see them.

“No, don’t say sorry,” Bokuto swallows, licking his lips, unsure of what to say next. “Do… um, do you feel sick?”

Akaashi’s face shutters, and he shakes his head, “I’m fine.”

Bokuto remembers then, that Akaashi is the type of person who isn’t comfortable with the disclosure of anything personal, and that he is obstinate in that quiet, composed way of his.

“Then… do you need more sleep? Because you can totally continue your nap, I promise I won’t tell a soul!”

Akaashi’s eyebrows shoot upwards, but then the corners of his lips quirk into the minutest of smiles. “Thank you, but I don’t want to sleep on the job.”

Bokuto takes it as the first, small victory, and feels more confident to plough forward. “How about I buy you something to drink, then? Or maybe something to eat?”

“You’re being very generous today, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi intones, an eyebrow elevated.

“I’m _always_ this generous,” Bokuto asserts, “So how about it? Would you like me to get you something?”

“No, it’s okay,” Akaashi says, examining Bokuto, his expression back to its habitual look of poise, and Bokuto hates his inability to be illusive. “You’re… not very subtle, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto throws his head back, groaning in defeat. “Ugh, I know.” Then he looks at Akaashi in the eyes, “But I just want to let you know that if there’s anything I could do to help, then you can just tell me! You should know that I –” he bites his bottom lip, before he continues in a quieter voice, “You should know that I would be willing to do anything if you asked me to.”

Akaashi stares at him, eyes unreadable, before he shifts his gaze to the side, pinching an earlobe between his thumb and forefinger and tugging on it.

Bokuto twists his fingers and gnaws on his lips, fidgeting as he waits for Akaashi to say something.

“I… I’m falling into a bad habit of mine,” Akaashi says, reticent, and Bokuto listens, anticipating. “I always get restless when exams are imminent, because I start thinking about all these… unnecessary thoughts.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says, trying to formulate a more intelligent response.

_Wait a minute._

“Exams?” Then he realizes that November is ending, which means they are almost at the two-month cutoff, which means – “Midterm exams,” he whispers.

Akaashi narrows his eyes. “Bokuto-san, please tell me you didn’t just remember that our midterm exams are around the corner.”

“What! Of course not! Why would you think that?!” Bokuto laughs, almost maniacally. “Anyway! Please continue what you were saying.”

Akaashi releases a sigh, “It’s nothing, really. I just get really stressed out from all the studying.”

“But what do you mean by ‘unnecessary thoughts’?” Bokuto inquires, cautiously.

“Well, it’s just that…” Akaashi takes a deep breath, diverting his eyes, “Sometimes I think that my grades are my only merits. Or rather, I don’t have any other particular talents that distinguish me from others.”

He drops his gaze down to the hands in his lap, “Sometimes I worry that I’m just going to continue living with this mediocre pattern, and…” he closes his eyes, shaking his head when he opens them. “This is all very juvenile. I don’t even know why I’m saying these things, so please forget about –”

“No, you’re wrong,” Bokuto intercepts, voice holding the slightest quiver, “You’re wrong, because you’re really amazing, Akaashi.” All of a sudden, his throat is filled with the thickness of the emotions he’s experiencing, and he swallows it down, “How can you say that you’re not distinguishable from other people? Because I’ve never met anyone like you, and I don’t think I ever will,” he smiles, and he knows it’s a bit wobbly, “And so what if it’s juvenile? You’re only what – 19?” This time he barks out a laughter, his eyes beginning to sting. He feels that he’s really bad at this comforting business, but he decides to just say what he truly believes, because it hurts; it hurts him that Akaashi is saying these things about himself.

Akaashi is staring at him now, stunned, unsure of what to say. His lips part, then clamp together, before he finally says, “Thank you.” A smile blooms on his lips, his eyes soft, “I’ve also never met someone like you.”

Bokuto blinks, sniffling, and returns the smile with a bright grin, eyes a bit watery.

They gaze at each other like that for a while longer, before Akaashi looks away, his ears pink, and Bokuto pulls his eyes away too, starting to feel flustered when he realizes how naively honest he’s been.

“Well, that was…”

“Yeah, it’s, uh, really…”

“Yes, it was.”

They glance at each other in concurrence, then look away again, and before they know it, laughter is escaping from their mouths, Akaashi’s quiet chuckle and Bokuto’s open-mouthed chortle painting the atmosphere.

Their laughter subsides and Akaashi picks up his pencil, tapping it against his notepad, a hint of a smile still adorning his lips. “I’m not even 19 yet,” he says under his breath, eyes trained downwards onto his book.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Akaashi says, “We should really get back to work now.”

“I was sure you said –”

Akaashi cuts him off with a sharp raise of his eyebrow, and Bokuto backs down, but his mind is reeling.

If Akaashi isn’t 19 yet, which he just said he isn’t, that would mean that his birthday hasn’t passed, and that would mean _opportunities_ for Bokuto.

He opens his laptop again, feeling determined. He could always ask Abe about it later.

*

“I’m sorry, but Keiji made me promise not to tell.”

“Wha – why?!”

“I’m not quite sure why, but he made me promise, so I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer. But,” Abe says, a glint in her eyes, “I can give you a hint.”

“Oh my god, yes please,” Bokuto says, pressing his palms together.

“It’s on the first week of December,” Abe grins, winking at him.

“Okay, that narrows it down by a lot. One out of seven – the probability of getting it right is pretty high up. Thanks, Abe-san!”

Abe laughs, “You’re welcome. But really, even if you get the day wrong, you’ll still have Christmas to make up for it.”

“Ah, right. I kinda forgot about that,” Bokuto scratches the back of his head, flashing a smile.

“Will you be going home for Christmas?” Abe asks, her voice gentle.

Bokuto blanches, before he swiftly puts on a grin, empty, and chirps, “Maybe! I still haven’t made plans yet.”

Abe continues smiling at him, patting his arm softly, not saying a word.

*

Monday, December 4th, is the first day of the midterm exams, and it is when Bokuto has to sit for the Calculus I exam. It is also the day on which he has elected to give Akaashi his birthday gift, which denotes that it is also the day he could possibly ruin the entire structure of his relationship with Akaashi, but he’s not dwelling too much on that likelihood because he has _an exam to ace, damn it_ , and he needs to do well and make Akaashi proud. He had originally intended to give the present last Friday, but that plan went bust when he was still biting his nails and freaking out about what he actually wanted to give. On Saturday, after volleyball practice, he had dragged Kuroo out to the mall to aid him in choosing the Perfect Gift. In the end, after a lot of gag gift ideas and general dicking about, Kenma had been the one to provide real help in having him execute the final ultimatum, and all he can do now is to hope that it won’t end in mishap.

The teaching assistants have begun to distribute the answer sheets and exam papers, and Bokuto’s heart skips a beat when Akaashi gives him his papers and whispers a “Good luck”, a tiny smile on his lips.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt more confident in doing well on an exam.

It is only when he strides up to the front of the lecture hall to hand in his examination that he realizes that it’s _not_ a suitable time to be giving Akaashi his present. With the attention of Nekomata and the three other TAs on him, all he could do is pass his papers with trembling hands before he stiffly walks out, his mind going shambles when he realizes that he certainly has _not_ thought this through.

He decides to loiter around outside of the lecture hall and wait until the end of the exam period, when all the remaining students would have filed out and emptied the room and the instructing unit would follow in tow. He plans to pull Akaashi aside for a while and deliver the gift, and he would suavely say something charming to brush it off as a no big deal, and he nods at himself, decreeing that it’s a foolproof, simple enough plan.

Luck proves to be on his side that day, because Akaashi is the last one to get out of the room, and Bokuto loud-whispers his name, beckoning him over to where he’s standing against the wall so as to make himself less noticeable.

“Bokuto-san? What are you doing here?”

Bokuto smiles at him, nervous, but he also takes note of how Akaashi doesn’t have those awful eyebags anymore; he looks tired, as most of them do during examination season, but not on the same level of exhaustion that he was in over a week ago.

“I have something. For you.” He rummages through his bag and takes a package out, haphazardly enclosed with colorful wrapping paper that trumpets “Happy birthday” all over it, along with balloons and birthday cakes.

Bokuto gulps, extending his hand out towards Akaashi, who has his head careened to the side, a slightly puzzled expression on his face.

“Y – you didn’t say when your birthday is, so I just took a guess. So, yeah, um, happy birthday.”

Akaashi stares at the gift, expression impassive, and Bokuto is tempted to shove the damn thing back in his bag and run away, but he continues to hold it out, his hand quavering, his throat arid.

Finally, Akaashi’s hand moves, and the tips of his fingers land on the package, eyes still rooted on it. “I want to accept this, because it’s a gift that you’ve prepared for me, but at the same time, I feel that I shouldn’t.”

Bokuto should’ve run. He should’ve escaped while he still had the chance, but it’s too late now, and he wants the ground to swallow him up whole.

“But we’ve come so far along, and I don’t see the point in backing away now,” Akaashi lifts his gaze, looking directly at Bokuto, a beatific smile dancing on his features, and Bokuto is _so far gone_.

Akaashi takes the gift and slips it inside his bag, and Bokuto is dazed, astonished that this actually worked out fine.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san. I’ll see you around,” Akaashi gives a little wave as he starts to walk away, but after a few steps he pauses, turning his head over his shoulder, a smirk tugging on his mouth as he says, “It’s tomorrow. Your guess is rather accurate.”

When Akaashi is far enough, Bokuto jumps and pumps his fists in the air, screaming cries of triumph, feeling like he’s just conquered the world, until a faculty member chases him away.

*

“Oh, Akaashi! Where did you go? I thought you were behind me but when I turned around you were gone.”

“Ah, I had to use the restroom,” Akaashi says, the lie sliding off his tongue easily even though he hates dishonesty.

“Alright, can you alphabetize that pile? They’re the A version, I’m doing B, and Yaku is getting the rubrics and pens. Sensei and Oikawa will come back soon, they went to the main office to get the answer sheets scanned,” Sugawara explains, standing in front of a stack of papers.

Akaashi nods and they begin alphabetizing the exam papers, Yaku coming in a few minutes later, and they’ve already begun marking when Nekomata and Oikawa arrive.

“The scantrons will be ready in a few hours,” Nekomata says, “Are all the papers alphabetized?”

“Yeah, the three of us are grading the first version,” Yaku says.

“But I wanted to grade that version!” Oikawa pouts, and Yaku rolls his eyes.

“They’re basically the same questions, it’s just that the numbers are different.”

“Exactly! I like the numbers on version A better,” Oikawa says, taking a red pen and sitting across Sugawara, “Version B has more fractions. Don’t you know how much I despise fractions? You should, since we –”

“If we switch places will you shut up?” Yaku interrupts, rubbing his temple.

Oikawa beams, and Sugawara snickers, “Yaku, you’re being really easy on him today.”

“I studied all night for the accounting exam I’m going to have this evening, I don’t have the energy to deal with Oikawa’s shi –”

“Yaku, remember the swear jar,” Nekomata says, tapping his pen against a jar on his table that’s half-full with 100 yen coins.

Sugawara leans in close to Akaashi and says, behind his hand, “Exam times are when the business becomes lucrative, because everyone turns into a walking cursing time bomb.”

Akaashi understands that very well, because even though he doesn’t really cuss, he also becomes half-dead during exam seasons, but he’s glad that he’s at least been able to sleep in the past few days that lead to the start of the exams, ever since his conversation with Bokuto over a week ago.

He wonders when it’s become so easy for him to be influenced by mere words, spoken to him by a person he’s known for two months.  

He thinks about the badly wrapped gift in his bag, and speculates what it could be.

“Akaashi, you okay there? You’re kind of spacing out.”

Akaashi blinks, then gives a small shake of his head. “I was just thinking whether I should give a point or not for this particular answer.”

“Let me take a look,” Sugawara offers, and Akaashi is inwardly thankful for his innate deception abilities.

“Ooh,” Oikawa croons, “I’ve got my first perfect score.”

“Who is it?” Yaku asks without looking up.

“Some guy named Watari.”

“I know him,” Nekomata says, chuckling, “He comes to my office hours regularly.”

“Well, he’s got the free response portion down pat, now we’ll just have to wait for the scantrons and see if he’ll get the full 100.”

“Oh Yakkun, why must you always be so pessimistic?”

“I’ve got a pencil case full of stationeries and I’m not afraid to hurl one of them at you.”

“Now now, let’s all play nice,” Nekomata intervenes, “By the way, have you all keyed in the scores for last week’s pop quiz?”

The four of them answer yes in scattered timings, and Oikawa complains, “Can we switch it up a little, though? I always grade for the people between G through M, and their quiz scores have become so predictable.”

“I don’t see why that’s a bad thing,” Sugawara says, “I mean, we get them according to our own alphabetical order too – Akaashi gets those whose family names begin in A through F, you from G to M, me from N to S, and Yaku gets the remaining letters.”

“And that’s exactly why it’s boring!” Oikawa turns to Akaashi, “Don’t you agree, Kei-chan?”

“Please do not drag me into this,” Akaashi retorts, tone clipped.

“Come on, I just want to know what you think!”

Akaashi sighs, “I’m fine with the way things are.”

Oikawa folds his arms over his chest, huffing, “I can’t believe you and Suga-chan aren’t taking my side.”

“I find it hardly surprising,” Akaashi says as he resumes grading.

“But when we’re marking the exams we don’t distribute them between us like we usually do, so shouldn’t that be enough?” Sugawara tries.

“But there’s only like, 2 exams per semester!”

“Oikawa, get back to doing what you’re paid to do,” Nekomata says through a clenched grin.

Oikawa hangs his head and picks up his pen, “Yes sir.”

A few minutes later, Sugawara announces, “I have someone with a perfect score!”

“Nice. Do you know who it is?” Oikawa queries, his chin on one hand.

Sugawara grins, “It’s someone you know. Bokuto Koutarou.”

Akaashi bristles and Oikawa’s eyes look as if they’re going to pop out of their sockets. “ _No way_.”

Sugawara’s grin morphs into a puckish smirk. “Akaashi knows him too.” He bumps his elbow with Akaashi’s. “Don’t you, Akaashi?”

Pushing some of his fringe away from his forehead and tucking it behind an ear, Akaashi continues grading, trying to appear as his usual nonchalant self, “Yes, I do.”

“How do you know this guy, Akaashi?” Oikawa asks, eyes still round and disbelieving, even after Sugawara hands him the paper to show him the score.

“He… comes to my office hours quite frequently.” _He’s also renting the apartment above my grandmother’s house._

“Is this the guy who’s on the volleyball team? One of the many people whom Oikawa likes to trash-talk about?” Yaku chips in, twirling his pen between his fingers.

“I can’t believe this…” Oikawa says, closing his eyes.

Akaashi risks a chance and asks, in his most monotonous voice, “Is it that hard to believe?”

“Well, we’re talking about the guy who thinks that tooth fairies are real and who gets called in by the coach almost every week to be lectured and reminded that he needs to at least pass all his classes if he wants to remain on the team, so yes, I find it rather hard to believe,” Oikawa says in one breath.

“He believes in tooth fairies?” Yaku asks, frowning.

“Last year someone accidentally spiked a ball into his face and he broke a tooth. He believed that he was going to be a few yens richer when he wakes up the next day.”

“Maybe he’s just really good at math?” Sugawara suggests, “What do you think, Akaashi? Since he always comes to your office hours and you mark his quizzes, you should know a bit about his math aptitude, right?”

Akaashi considers the first few submissions, where Bokuto’s answer sheets were empty, but after a while – after they began to work on the problem he has with discursive application problems, his quiz scores have improved.

Inadvertently, Akaashi also thinks back about all the conversations they’ve had, including the late night discourses they shared in his grandmother’s living room, about Bokuto’s love for math, his interest in computer science, his passion for volleyball, some snippets of his childhood memories, recounts of the fun and riotous things he’s done with Kuroo, and Akaashi’s chest is filled with an indescribable elation that threatens to bubble over, leaving tingling imprints on his skin.

“I think he’s brilliant,” he says simply, a smile spreading over his lips in full blossom.

He goes back to grading the papers, his smile yet to dissipate, and Yaku nudges Sugawara, whispering, “Is it just me, or is Akaashi actually smiling?”

Oikawa huddles close to the two of them, eyes still stuck on Akaashi as well, “I’ve never seen him smile like this, he usually just sneers at me or something. Bokuto-chan getting a perfect score on an academic examination and Kei-chan genuinely smiling – _what is going on_?” he hisses, “The stars are going to collide and the world will explode.”

Sugawara shrugs, but he’s smiling when he says, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think that whatever _is_ going on, it’s a good thing.”

*

On Friday night, Kuroo barges into Bokuto’s place, lugging a small pine tree on his shoulder, as Kenma carries in a box that looks a little too heavy for him. “Both our moms bought trees for our apartment, so we decided to give one to you,” he tells Bokuto, but Bokuto knows that even if Kuroo didn’t have a spare tree lying around in his house, he’d still have come over and brought one with him.

“Time to bedazzle your crib,” Kuroo says with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows.

Two hours, one burnt wreath, and three torn tinsels later, Bokuto’s apartment _screams_ Christmas.

“Dude, this is so beautiful,” he says, wiping away an invisible tear.

“I know,” Kuroo agrees, nodding sagely, “It’s like old Saint Nick himself threw up in this place.”

“Is that really a good thing…” Kenma cringes as his gaze sweeps over the entirety of the apartment. “Don’t you think we went a little overboard with the decorations?”

Kuroo throws an arm around Kenma’s shoulder, laughing, “Of course we did, that was the plan.” He shoves a hand in his pocket and pulls out a mistletoe. “And look at what I’ve got here,” he sings, dangling it above their heads.

“No,” Kenma replies, prying himself out of Kuroo’s arm.

“Your rejection just spurs me on,” Kuroo says dramatically, “I love it when you play hard to get.”

Kenma wrinkles his nose at him, before walking away to sit at the kotatsu.

“It’s okay, Kuroo. Let’s order pizza to make up for the loss,” Bokuto says in mock-encouragement.

“Nothing heals the heart better than Italian food,” Kuroo concedes.

As they eat pizza and watch a nature documentary, Kenma asks, “How did he like the present, Koutarou?”

Bokuto quails, spitting out a half-chewed chunk of pizza, and Kuroo hands him a glass of water, thumping his back, “Kenma, be careful. Remember that Bokuto is a fragile man.”

“You’ve been wanting to ask him about it for almost a week now. Don’t pretend like you’re not interested,” Kenma says, taking a small bite out of the pizza slice in his hands.

“True, but that’s only because _he_ hasn’t replied to any of my texts.”

Bokuto slams his empty glass on the table, glaring at Kuroo, “I’ve been meaning to ask you this; but why do _you_ have his number? I tried asking him about it the other day but I think he totally avoided the question.”

“And I’ll avoid the question too,” Kuroo says, leaning back on his hands, “So? Did he like the gift?”

Bokuto continues to scowl at Kuroo, but then he sighs, slumping forward with his arms on the table, “I don’t know. They didn’t have office hours this week, so I didn’t get to see him today.”

“Don’t be sad, Bokuto. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, remember?”

Bokuto picks off a slice of pineapple from the pizza and chucks it at Kuroo, who evades it easily.

“I thought you said that he usually comes here on Saturdays?” Kenma asks.

“He does, but I’m at practice during the times he stops by,” Bokuto sulks.

“Cheer up, Koutarou. Next week will come by soon enough,” Kenma consoles.

Bokuto sniffs, “Thanks, Kenma.”

“Oh, I see how it is. When I try to comfort you, you throw fruits at me, but when Kenma comforts you, you thank him. Double standard much?” Kuroo says, a hand over his heart.

Bokuto kicks him from underneath the table, and Kuroo laughs. “Alright alright, I’ll stop teasing him,” he says when Kenma squints reproachfully at him.

“By the way, I’m loving the kotatsu. The blankets are so you,” Kuroo says, pulling the owl-printed quilt up to his stomach.

Bokuto rubs his nose, eyes gliding to the side, “Yeah, I like it too.”

Kuroo slides down further, until he’s lying on the floor, the cushion serving as his pillow. “Two more weeks until winter break,” he says, “Sometimes I’m really tempted to just skip classes until after new year. Winter break is only going to be a little over a week, so.” He sighs, comfortable with his reclined position, “But then again, we’re already halfway through the semester….”

“Yeah, time went by pretty quickly,” Bokuto says wistfully, drawing shapes on the table with his fingers.

Kenma doesn’t finish his pizza, having pulled out his game device instead, and the television plays an anime that no one is really paying attention to, and a few moments pass by without anyone saying anything.

“You’re really not going home for the break?”

Kuroo’s question drops into the room like an electric bomb, and Bokuto digs his nails into his palms, breathing through his nose in measured intakes. Kenma’s fingers freeze over the buttons on his PSP, even though he doesn’t look up from it.

“I’m not sure where mine is.”

_Home._

*

“Have you gotten a start on the application project?”

“It’s not due until right before the break, right?

“Bokuto-san, that does not mean that you should put it off and do it on the day that it’s due.”

“I’m not gonna do it on the day that it’s due, I’m gonna do it the day _before_. Come on Akaashi, I’m not an amateur,” Bokuto says, snorting.

Akaashi gives him an unimpressed look.

“Okay, okay, I’ll start doing it a few days before,” Bokuto surrenders, holding his hands up.

“Remember that it’s due in class on Thursday. There will be no homework for next week so the students can focus on the project,” Akaashi says, before he returns to his laptop.

“Roger!” Bokuto gives a two-finger salute. “Will you have office hours next week, though?”

“I will.”

“Man, it’s on the day before the break too. The campus will practically be empty by then.”

“Thank you for the uplifting words, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi deadpans.

Bokuto laughs, “Sorry.” He twiddles his fingers, turning his eyes to the side, “But I’ll still come by next week,” he says, a tad shyly.

Akaashi stops typing on the keyboard temporarily, and when Bokuto risks a glance, he catches sight of the flash of smile that passes Akaashi’s face, and his own heart soars.

Akaashi resumes his work, and Bokuto asks, a bit meekly, “Do you, uh, do you like the present?”

“I do.”

Bokuto feels a blush claiming a place on his face then, and his lips split into a grin. “I’m glad! Are you using them? There’s no point if you’re not!”

“I am, but only when I’m at home,” Akaashi glances at him, “Did Grandmother tell you that I like…polka dot socks?”

“I just took a guess,” Bokuto says, his grin a rictus, “I saw you wearing them in the pictures at your grandmother’s place.”

“You’re quite good at making guesses,” Akaashi remarks, an eyebrow arched.

“One of my many strong points!”

“And the only one I’ve seen so far.”

“Hey!”

Akaashi counters it at a shrug, and Bokuto puffs his cheeks out, but then he asks, “Will you be grading the project over the break?”

“Yes, all the teaching assistants and Nekomata-sensei will.”

Bokuto hums, “That doesn’t sound like a very fun way to spend the holidays.”

The tapping sound of Akaashi’s fingers hitting the keyboard halts, this time for a longer period, and Bokuto sees that Akaashi is looking at him, unwavering, eyes scrutinizing and deep, piercing down to Bokuto’s very core, his expression inscrutable, and Bokuto yields, wanting to submerge in the deepness of those eyes.

“Bokuto-san…”

Bokuto nods, mouth going ajar.

Akaashi pauses, holding back, reconsidering.

“Bokuto-san,” he says again, eyes growing less penetrating, face indifferent, “My mother is returning next Saturday.”

Bokuto blinks in rapid succession. “Oh. That’s nice.”

Akaashi holds his gaze for a while longer, before breaking away, and it is then that Bokuto realizes the reason for the unanticipated admission, for the slight hesitance.

Bokuto has lost count of the number of times in which Akaashi has spared him, exempted him from touching on the things that he himself has avoided for the past few months.

Akaashi has always been able to read him so very easily after all.

“She’ll… be home just in time for the holidays, then,” Bokuto says, biting the inside of his cheek after doing so.

Akaashi gives him a lingering look, then away, gaze directed towards the window and the orange glow of the late evening sun.

“I hope you’ll have a good winter break, Bokuto-san.”

*

Akaashi tightens the knot of his tie, pushes his hair back one more time, and, after giving himself a once-over, sighs.

There is a knock on his door, and he sees, from the reflection in the mirror, his grandmother standing at the threshold, smiling serenely at him.

“Look at how handsome my grandson is. You’ve grown up so much, Keiji.”

Akaashi turns around, giving her a tiny smile. “You say that every year, Grandmother.”

She takes measured steps towards the bed and carefully sits down, patting the spot next to her, and Akaashi heeds the wordless command.

“Are you not going to compliment me on my kimono?” she asks, teasing, and Akaashi breathes a laughter.

“You look very beautiful, Grandmother,” he says, tongue in cheek. “Have Mother and Father gone downstairs?”

“They have,” she says, “But I came upstairs to catch you alone.”

“Oh dear,” Akaashi says, poker-faced, “That doesn’t sound too good.”

Abe chuckles. “You and your charming wit,” she says, swiping a finger on the tip of his nose.

She takes one of his hands into hers, and places a key on his palm.

Akaashi’s brows knit together. “This is…”

Abe curls his fingers around the item, and she holds the enclosed hand in both of hers.

“You might need it,” is all she says, cryptic, before she gets up and leaves him alone, to think. To decide.

*

“Your head has been in the clouds all day.”

Akaashi snaps his head to the side, slightly alarmed, but then he relaxes, his lips curved in a lazy smile. “I don’t really want to hear that from you.”

“Mean! Keiji is so mean,” his mother gives him a light whack on his arm, “I knew leaving you with your father alone for two months was a horrid idea.”

“I’ve always been this way, Mother. It’s too late to say that now.”

His mother narrows her emerald, round eyes at him, before sighing, “I can’t argue with that.” She takes a sip from her wine glass, then she titters, knocking her elbow onto Akaashi’s. “I’ve really missed you.”

“The feeling is mutual, Mother,” Akaashi says, and she tips her head up at him, looking into his eyes and smiling softly.

“But your head is somewhere else tonight,” she touches his cheek, trying to coax his thoughts out.

Akaashi closes his eyes, biting back a sigh. “Mother, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Ah, but my motherly instincts tell me otherwise,” she tries, slanting her head to one side, eyes big and expectant.

Akaashi resists rolling his eyes, because he admits that he has to give her _some_ credit in that regard, no matter how carefree she can be at times.

His mother drops her hand to his arm, smile omnipresent. “It’s not just your head. Your heart isn’t here either.”

Akaashi’s grip around his glass involuntarily tightens.

He scoffs, “Haven’t you heard what Aunt Kimiko said during the last family get-together? Apparently, I don’t have a heart.”

“Oh Keiji, what do I always tell you? She’s that dreadful relative that every family has to bear with until the day she kicks the bucket.”

They share a laughter, but then his mother stares at him, as loving as he remembers her to be.

“Keiji,” she says, firm, and that sternness sounds odd in her voice, “We have this formal, boring Christmas eve party every year. You don’t even really know half of these people.”

Akaashi’s gaze skims over their large living room, over the men and women in fancy, custom-made clothing, politely laughing and exchanging pleasantries, clinking crystal wine glasses half-filled with expensive champagne.

“Your father and I wouldn’t mind if you miss it for something more important,” she finishes, giving his arm a squeeze.

He glances out of the corner of his eyes and sees his grandmother observing him from across the room, her smile all-knowing and wise.

Akaashi exhales through his mouth, knowing that he’s lost the battle.

He never wanted to win anyway.

He gives his mother a kiss on the cheek and runs out of the house.

*

The television screen flicks scene after scene, filling the house with enough noise to keep Bokuto awake and attentive as he sits at the kotatsu, in an old sweatshirt and a pair of lounge pants, hair down, peeling an orange that he knows he won’t actually eat.

His phone vibrates and pings with the incoming texts, each one ringing louder, more discordant than before, but they all go ignored.

He checks the wall clock for the umpteenth time in the last hour, and groans despairingly when he sees that it’s only 8 in the evening.

He doesn’t really know what to do with himself.

He went out for his morning jog and visited the convenience store nearby to stock up on his junk food, but he spent the rest of the day indoors, trying to occupy himself with various activities, which included attempting to stuff 20 marshmallows into his mouth, and to not much success in distracting himself. His drudgery of a day closed curtains with him staring at the old Colonel Sanders-shaped stain on his kitchen wall, the sun sinking into a slumber and the interior of his apartment painted in diluted ink.

He turns his head and stares at the presents that Kuroo and Kenma have left for him under the miniature Christmas tree, debating on whether he should just open them that night instead of the next morning.

No one’s around to stop him, after all.

He shakes his head. He mustn’t think of such things, especially not when it’ll only lead to more of his own vices.

He buries his face in his arms on the table, sighing, forlorn and wrought with wonder, because when he’s alone, all he could think about these days is –

_Akaashi._

Akaashi, and his quiet understanding and acceptance. Akaashi, and his dry humor and blunt comments. Akaashi, and his frightening personality when he gets irritated. Akaashi, and how he tries his best to always appear strong and unaffected. Akaashi, and his sharp features and alluring eyes and dark curls. Akaashi, and how he is a soothing balm to Bokuto’s turbulence and rumpus; the shore to the crashing tides, and Bokuto so very much yearns for him.

The apartment feels deafeningly quiet, even with the television on, and it’s repressing, threatening to explode in his ears.

He screws his eyes shut.

He breathes in, holds it, and breathes out.

It feels less quiet, but his mind doesn’t stop chanting one name, and one wish.

_I want to see you._

He jolts upright when there is a knock at the door, and he stays still for a while, wondering if he’s hearing things.

There is another knock, a little louder this time, and Bokuto gets to his feet, floundering with a guess as to who it could be.

He unlocks the door and slides it open, and he is caught immediately in a trance.

“Ah, Bokuto-san. Good evening.”

Akaashi seems rather breathless, breath vapors like thick white clouds befogging the air with each pant as he tries to regulate his breathing, shoulders raising and falling, cheeks a charming shade of rose.

“Akaashi…” Bokuto manages to murmur, when he finally gets his brain to function normally again.

“Yes, it’s me,” Akaashi’s tongue darts out and swipes over his lips, “You… must be surprised to –”

Bokuto extends a hand, and he’s moving by instinct, his mind still not revived fully, flinching when his fingers graze over Akaashi’s cold cheeks, as if his body is shocked that it has come into contact with something that’s real, that’s alive, and not something that’s illusionary.

“It really is you,” he breathes out, lips twitching into an unsure smile.

Akaashi holds his hand, bringing it away from his face, but doesn’t let go. Instead, he laces their fingers together, and Bokuto registers that the digits fit together perfectly, snugly.

“Yes, I… came to see you.” His breathing is steady now, and his face is as neutral and untelling as it always is, but there is a certain vulnerability, a certain pureness, to the way he’s carefully uttering his words, to the way his voice is undulating in the slightest. “I just had to see you.”

He smiles, infinitesimal and real.

Bokuto squeezes his hand, just to make sure that he really is standing there, at his doorstep, as his own smile grows, albeit shakily.

“I was thinking of the same thing,” he says, “In my head, I was shouting your name and calling for you to appear in front of me,” Bokuto laughs, because it’s all too surreal, “And then you really did appear, almost like magic.”

Akaashi smiles, unfettered, his teeth flashing pearly and straight, eyes crinkled and all soft at the edges, “We make quite a team, Bokuto-san.”

They come inside, and Bokuto belatedly realizes that Akaashi is in a suit, and nothing else, even though it’s probably below zero degrees outside.

“Akaashi, where’s your coat and scarf? Did you drive here like that?”

Akaashi toes his leather shoes off, and touches the lapel of his suit jacket, looking down at it almost quizzically.

“Oh. I… didn’t realize I wasn’t wearing any. And I cycled here.”

“ _What_?! Akaashi, it’s super cold out there! What if you had _died_?!” Bokuto screeches, seizing Akaashi’s shoulders, “Oh my _god_!” He ushers him to the living room, “Should I get you blankets? A sweater? Make you something hot to drink? Do you want to take a bath and warm up?” He leans in close, eyes wide and troubled, still gripping Akaashi’s shoulders like his life depended on it, “Please don’t freeze and die.”

“Bokuto-san, calm down,” Akaashi says, extricating Bokuto’s hands off him, “I’m fine, just a little cold. The cycling warmed me up, so don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?!”

“Very sure,” Akaashi confirms flatly, but when it seems like Bokuto isn’t convinced, he adds, in a mild tone, “I suppose it would be nice if you lent me a sweater and made some tea.”

“Got’cha!”

As Bokuto skedaddles to boil some water and forage his wardrobe, Akaashi takes off his jacket and tie, standing in the living room, feeling a little unsure of what to do now that he’s there.

He studies the bowl of peeled oranges, uneaten, and the skin that’s left in a pile on the table, the subdued volume of the television, the Christmas tree and ostentatious festive decorations, and the opened window, which explains why it’s drafty. Bokuto returns with a sweater that’s a little too big for Akaashi but it’s just the way he likes them; large and warm and cozy.

He dons it over his white, starched shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and Bokuto openly stares, thinking of how intimate it is to have Akaashi wear his clothing.

“The kettle is whistling,” Akaashi says, sounding rather amused, and Bokuto nods, throat dry, scrambling back into the kitchen.

They make themselves comfortable at the kotatsu, when Akaashi asks if Bokuto has had any dinner yet.

“I think I had two boxes of pocky. Oh, but earlier in the day I fried some eggs and sausages!”

Akaashi stares at him, placid, but his eyes tell Bokuto that he’s probably being silently judged.

“Bokuto-san, may I have a look around your pantry?”

“Uh, sure. But you won’t find much.”

True enough, Akaashi doesn’t find anything that betters his appraisal of Bokuto’s culinary survival capacity, but he isn’t surprised to find a lot of eggs and meat in the refrigerator.

“Minus 70 points for not having any vegetables,” he remarks plainly as he moves on to check the cupboards below the sink.

Bokuto looks somewhat appalled, but asks, “How many points did I have in the beginning?”

“None, but I’ll give you some points for the proteins.”

“Fair enough.”

Akaashi hums in thought as he takes one last look at Bokuto’s kitchen.

“I’ll make nabe,” he decides, taking out some meat to thaw.

“Sounds good!” Bokuto grins, “Do we have everything?”

“No, but I’ll go downstairs and take some ingredients and the portable stove,” Akaashi manages to find a suitable pot, and asks Bokuto to bring it to the low table in the living room.

“Wait, you’re gonna break into your grandma’s place?!”

“Well, not technically,” Akaashi says, insouciant, despite Bokuto’s bewilderment, “She…gave me the key to her house.”

A light pink sprays over his cheeks, almost unnoticeable, but he doesn’t really give a chance for Bokuto to stare and ask more questions because he’s already heading to the front door.

They fall into a leisurely, comfortable pace, preparing ingredients for the hotpot and exchanging quips and smiles and stealing glances, before they finally settle back down at the kotatsu, eating a meal that warms them up. But Bokuto knows that it’s not just the nabe that’s making him feel so content, and he feels that Akaashi knows it too.

“You really did get a kotatsu.”

Bokuto averts his eyes, trying to not get flustered at the sight of the tiny smirk on Akaashi’s lips.

“D – does it surprise you?”

Akaashi looks down at his hands, rubbing his fingers together and mindlessly fiddling with them. “At this point, no, it doesn’t.”

They fall silent for a while, and Bokuto thinks over the sequence of events, and what they mean to him. To them.

“It’s snowing.”

Bokuto looks at Akaashi, who’s staring out the window, at the sprinkle of white crystals against the darkness of the night, and he follows the line of sight, marveling at both the view outside and across from him.

“Bokuto-san, I have a request,” Akaashi says, turning to Bokuto with a reserved smile, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes.

“Anything,” Bokuto breathes out, _for you_.

“Can we switch off the lights?”

“Of course. I’ll go do that.”

As Bokuto turns off the light switches, Akaashi pushes the kotatsu up against the wall, where the window is, and sits facing the aperture.

“Sit here,” he says simply, gesturing to the space beside him.

Bokuto swallows, and takes a spot beside Akaashi, stretching his legs out underneath the table and pulling the blankets over his lap. Akaashi’s knee presses against the side of his thigh because he’s sitting with his legs crossed, and Bokuto tries not to think too much about it, channeling his focus on the scene in front of them instead.

There’s a street lamp across the road, and the fluorescent light irradiates the tiny flakes, letting them fall in a glittering, graceful descent, their time being airborne ephemeral, beautiful, as they land on earth and culminate into latitudinous white skin.  

In the darkness of the room, the snowfall looks almost ethereal.

Bokuto looks to his right, at Akaashi’s profile, and finds that he is probably thinking the same thing, from the way his eyes never leave the window, the glint in his captivated eyes like stars on malachite tableau.

The phone that he has pocketed before they started eating dinner rings and vibrates, and he detests it. He detests himself for not being able to answer it.

Akaashi turns to face him, and sedately asks, “Are you not going to answer that?”

Bokuto trains his eyes downwards, because he is a coward, but he doesn’t want to run away anymore. “It’s – it’s probably my sister.”

Akaashi moves, a little closer, warm against him. “You never told me you had a sister,” again, composed, careful.

“No, I never did.”

Their hands are on the edge of the quilt, on their laps, right next to each other, and Akaashi’s little finger nudges against his, a gentle encouragement.

“She’s probably calling to tell me the same thing she’s been texting me about the past few days.” He feels his stomach roil, the discomfort spreading from his head down to his body, his heart picking up a speed.

“She’s asking me to come home.”

He finds himself unable to look at Akaashi’s face, to scour his face for any hints of reaction.

“But I don’t know if that place is my home anymore,” he hears his own voice, how it sounds weird, but not foreign, when it’s scratchy with dismal emotions.

He wrings his hands, clutching the blankets, his knuckles white and shaking.

“My dad is disappointed in me. And my mom – she doesn’t –”

There is a lump that’s constricting his throat, his lips are trembling, and he knows that he can’t really contain himself for much longer, but he’s still very scared, because what if Akaashi doesn’t –

A hand touches his own, uncurling the fingers, and the tactile contact is all too familiar, too comforting. Akaashi clasps their hands together, running his thumb over the knuckles, and Bokuto still refuses to look at his face, but he feels himself unbinding the lock to the secret that he’s forbidden himself to pry open.

“She said that she didn’t know how to love me anymore,” he rasps out, broken, and it all comes flooding to him at once, his eyes prickling and welling up tears.

“Because I was – ” _Sick. Ill. Crazy._

The hold around his hand tightens, and he squeezes back, vision blurred by the tears, and he feels the first drop finally rolling down his cheek, until the tears are streaming down ceaselessly, from his eyes and down to his jaw, dripping onto his shirt.

“We didn’t know until I was in college –” he says through a hiccup, “After I had a major episode – and coach was the one who noticed that –” he swallows down a sob, “My condition wasn’t _normal._ ”

His chest hurts, heaving with each sentence that is said, and Akaashi has not let go of his hand.

“My mom – she didn’t – ”slips through choked sobs, and soon he finds himself unable to speak. His nose is running and he has his eyes clamped shut, and he could not stop crying.

He doesn’t remember the last time he has cried this hard, emotions raw and unimpeded.

He feels himself being pulled forward, arms wrapping around him. He presses his face against Akaashi’s neck, hands clenched around the fabric of sweater on Akaashi’s back, and he continues weeping, crying with great wrecking sobs that come from deep inside of him, Akaashi’s hand on his head, patting and soothing, rocking their bodies together, back and forth.

He doesn’t know how long they stayed like that, because all he remembers afterwards is how exhausted he is, down to his very bones, his eyes sore, nose blocked, and with a last snivel, he lets his eyelids droop completely, the final stream of his consciousness fading away, but he distinctly remembers Akaashi’s arms continuing to envelop him, secure and warm, and he falls asleep against him, filled with Akaashi’s presence.

*

He wakes up pressed against Akaashi’s chest, lying on their sides, legs folded so they could pull the blankets up to their shoulders and fit under the kotatsu. His eyes are swollen; he could feel that, and it occurs to him that he had cried in front of Akaashi, and had _told_ him, and suddenly he feels remarkably embarrassed, curling up further into fetal position. His breath hitches when he realizes that doing so enables him to cuddle close to Akaashi, and it adds fuel to his burning face. He peers up, through the mass of his bangs, taking in the exposed angle of Akaashi’s throat, the immaculate lashes, the smooth slope of his nose, the ivory flesh and accentuated facial structure. One hand reaches over and gently lands on Akaashi’s slim waist, and Bokuto cannot believe that this is actually happening.

Internally screaming, Bokuto covers his face with his hands, feeling a mixture of mortification, glee, and hunger, his stomach growling in demand. He wills it to shut up, but it’s too late for that. Akaashi stirs, slowly fluttering his eyes open, his forehead crumpled.

“I…can’t feel my arm.”

Bokuto feels something shifting beneath his head, and it dawns upon them both that Bokuto had slept, literally, in Akaashi’s arms.

They promptly sit up, hair sticking up and eyes gritty, mind replaying everything that had happened the night before.

“G-good morning, Akaashi!”

“Good morning, Bokuto-san.”

“Um, merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Bokuto-san.”

They lapse into silence, and Akaashi is the one to break it.

“Did you sleep well?”

Bokuto is flushed, but he would like to believe that it’s not too obvious. “I did! And you?”

“I did, too.”

Akaashi tucks a wick of ebony hair behind an ear.

“Let’s clean up a little, and then we can have breakfast.” An interlude of consideration, of slight reluctance. “And then we can… talk more.”

Bokuto’s heart is beating hard and fast, but he doesn’t feel as afraid as he was before, and he bobs his head. “Okay.”

He gives Akaashi an unused toothbrush and a change of clothes should he want them, and as Akaashi uses the bathroom, Bokuto cleans up the dishes from dinner, only because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Bokuto’s return from the bathroom is greeted with the hearty smell of fried eggs, and he finds that Akaashi has prepared scrambled eggs for them, laying breakfast out at the dining table.

“You don’t happen to have coffee do you?”

Bokuto gives a lopsided, wary grin, “I’m prohibited from drinking them after a certain accident, so no, I don’t have coffee in this house.”

“It’s alright. Tea will be sufficient for now,” Akaashi replies, facetious.

They eat in idle silence, but Bokuto knows that this is the time to sort some… _things_ out, especially from the way Akaashi is watching him.

He clears his throat, only to stall for some time.

“So, last night…”

Akaashi has lowered his fork and placed it on his plate, gaze fully directed at Bokuto.

“Last night,” he begins again, “I told you. About myself.”

Dark eyes unwavering, expression steady, and Bokuto takes them as a sign of encouragement for him to march on.

“Even moving out…” he trails off, because the next part is going to be unpleasant; it’s going to taste like bile on his tongue. “It’s because my mom said that she wanted a divorce.”  

He licks his lips, “It’s because she… couldn’t stand it. Not even after I’ve received months of… treatment.”

He takes a steadying breath, letting the clock tick by, the thrum of the refrigerator reverberating in the air.

“And I couldn’t let that happen, y’know? My sister is still in middle school, and she doesn’t deserve that.”

Among other reasons, Bokuto is adverse to have others know because he is scared that the way they look at him would change to that of prejudice, but what he can’t stand even more is that they are bound to pity him, and so it comes as a relief when Akaashi isn’t regarding him with sympathetic eyes, but with something else, something that Bokuto can’t quite put a finger on. But even without him putting it into words, he knows that Akaashi has always had an inkling, picked up on hints when he witnessed Bokuto shirking away and building up fortresses, and spectacularly failing, given his inability to be elusive. Bokuto believes himself to be the worst liar and actor, after all.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel as if you have an obligation to share any of that with me.”

Bokuto quickly shakes his head, “No, don’t say that! I’m actually kind of…”

He assesses the feeling that is lodged in his chest, and easily recognizes it as satisfaction, if not exhilaration, and given that he has just shared a secret, it would not be stretch to say that he feels as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“Glad,” he finishes, “I actually feel glad, I think.”

Akaashi smiles, the usual minute, genuine smile, before dropping his gaze to his plate of unfinished food.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Go for it!”

“Do you… wish to see your family?”

Bokuto’s mouth feels like it’s filled with sawdust. A few people have asked him about that sort of thing – Kuroo and Abe, mainly – but they asked whether he was going home, and not if he wanted to see the people he calls his family.

And he realizes that yes, he does want to see them, regardless of the complicated feelings he harbors.

“Maybe. I mean, I think I do,” he admits, “It’s hard to explain, because even I don’t understand it myself.”

He fingers the sleeve of his sweater, twisting and pulling at a frayed thread.

“Maybe I just never really thought about it,” he says, haltingly, “Or maybe I just need an excuse.”

Bokuto has always thought that home means a place of warmth and acceptance and security, and as of late, he has come to accede with the fact that the house that he had lived in for two decades isn’t a place he can, or want to, call home. Not anymore. The old him would have been devastated and crushed by this acknowledgment, but the current him feels… strangely calm about it.

He skids his gaze up to meet Akaashi’s eyes.

Akaashi returns the gaze, face indecipherable, and says, “Bokuto-san, do you remember the bet we made?”

*

Bokuto visits his family on New Year’s day.

It’s awkward, but he’s happy to see his sister, and happy to tell his parents that he’s doing rather well. He doesn’t know if they can be repaired, not now at least.

They go to the shrine together in the day, and he doesn’t stay for the night.

It’s almost dusk, snow piled up on the sidewalk, and he unwittingly finds himself in front of Akaashi’s doorstep, dithering only when he’s about to ring the doorbell, which is absurd, because he has been so excited to tell Akaashi that he’s fine, that he survived meeting his own family, and that he’s actually relieved to have faced them.

The front door swings open before his finger presses the button, and in front of him stands a slender woman, wavy black hair framing her delicate face, tumbling past her shoulders and down to her waist, her eyes a matching dark color, but probably green if one were to look closely.

“I saw you from the window,” she says, a smile stretched across her features.

“Oh, I’m sorry! The gate was open so I just walked in and –”

“Are you Keiji’s friend?” she asks, sounding pleased.

Bokuto rubs his nape, “Something like that.”

She takes a step forward, leaning in closer, and whispers, “Are you the one he went to see on Christmas?”

A burning heat flares across Bokuto’s cheeks as he fumbles for an answer.

“Mother.”

Akaashi’s voice cuts through the air like glass, and the lady turns around, grinning.

“Keiji! Your friend is here.”

“I can see that.”

She looks at Bokuto, “Come on inside!”

“Ah, no, it’s alright!” Bokuto waves his hands about, “I just came here to have a word with Akaashi.”

“Mother, I’ll take it from here,” Akaashi says, sighing.

Akaashi’s mother only relents after a man’s voice calls out to her from somewhere inside the house, and she disappears after pinching her son’s cheek, laughing.

Akaashi sighs, heavy, and Bokuto giggles.

“Happy new year, Akaashi.”

“Happy new year. Are you sure you don’t want to come inside?”

“I’m sure. I just needed to tell you something.”

Akaashi folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the doorframe, regarding Bokuto with quiet, expectant eyes.

“I did it,” Bokuto says, “I went to see them.”

Akaashi tips his head to the side a little, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“I think… I just needed an excuse, y’know?”

 _“Want to make a bet?_ _Loser has to do whatever the winner says.”_

“Everything isn’t exactly okay, but some things are, and – I’m okay.”

Saying it aloud unknots a string of tension in his body, and he wonders if he’s grown, taken another step forward, even just a small ambit.

“I’m okay,” he reiterates, smiling when he says it this time, meaning it.

Akaashi pushes himself off the doorframe, eyes never leaving Bokuto as he moves forward, closer, until there’s a sliver of distance between them.

Fingers slide into Bokuto’s hair, palm on his cheek, and his breath stills.

Akaashi’s fingers skate lower to his jaw, thumb stroking the skin on his cheekbone, and his heart almost explodes out of his body when Akaashi’s eyes, half-mast, flickers down to his mouth.

Akaashi drags his gaze upwards again, looking at Bokuto through thick, obsidian lashes, hand still holding his face in a tender touch.

“In February… after the semester and final exams are over, I’m going to kiss you.” Akaashi’s voice is a low murmur, his thumb running across Bokuto’s lower lip. “Are you alright with that, Bokuto-san?”

Purple and orange mingle in the aerial space of the horizon, and Akaashi’s eyes are hooded, galvanizing, and Bokuto has been pulled by the gravitation since the very beginning.

Bokuto nods.

****

A gentle breeze carries the cherry blossom petals into a fluttering dance and one finds its way into Bokuto’s cup of tea, a pink fleck sitting near the rim.

He places the cup beside him, and turns to his right, where Akaashi is seated, as they relax on the patio, enjoying the last few days of spring break together.

Honey is curled up on the tatami flooring in the living room, and Abe has gone out to the supermarket on the pretext of needing to look for some ingredients for dinner.

Bokuto swings his legs, toe scuffing the ground underneath, leaning back on the heels of his palms, head tipped upwards, the sky a startling blue above them.

“So!” he says, “Ready for your second year?”

Humming, Akaashi follows his gaze, towards the wisps of clouds languorously floating away, “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he answers, mordant. “And you? Any thoughts for the new semester?”

Bokuto laughs, “Maybe I’ll get a haircut.”

Akaashi darts him a glance, “Then maybe I’ll get piercings.”

Bokuto whips his head towards him, aghast.

“Just on one ear,” Akaashi continues, pensive.

The expression on Bokuto’s face drifts to one of bashfulness, “I – I look forward to that.”

A smirk plays along Akaashi’s lips as he shifts closer, one hand reaching for Bokuto’s.

Bokuto scoots nearer, letting Akaashi intertwine their fingers and resting them on his lap. Bokuto still finds it amazing, how their fingers fit perfectly together, Akaashi’s lithe digits slotted between Bokuto’s sturdier ones effortlessly, beautifully.    

Akaashi’s smile is soft and real, his presence calming and warm, and something in Bokuto’s mind whispers an indiscernible ‘home’, not yet explored, not yet understood.

Bokuto holds Akaashi’s hand a little tighter, his own smile luminous and wide.

Like many other stories, Bokuto’s story ends with the promise of a new beginning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry if this turned out to be one big disappointment,,
> 
> but more importantly, i'd like to thank all of the people who have taken the time to read this! thank you for the kind and encouraging words - this fic got even more enjoyable to write because of you rockstars :'D
> 
> hmu at http://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/  
> i'm always in the mood to scream and bawl over these volleygays
> 
> EDIT: [there is sort of an epilogue if you're interested.... ](http://nakasomethingkun.tumblr.com/post/139283897313/fic-the-spaces-between-my-fingers-extra)


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